Dear Finnick
by erinwithane
Summary: AU. Annie Cresta and Finnick Odair have been pen pals since she was 6 years old. After agreeing to keep things anonymous between the two of them, she has no idea what he looks like or sounds like. Everything changes, however, when they find out that Annie and her father just so happen to be moving to Finnick's town. When the two finally meet, Annie's life changes.
1. The Boy Hidden Behind Pen and Paper

**Hello! **

**This is the first chapter fic that I've written in a long time. I'm hoping it works out and I can motivate myself to stick with it, because I've had this idea in my head for a while.**

**Also this is the first time I've written anything in first person POV in a while, so I apologize for any mistakes/accidental changes in tense the may occur. I do try to find any before I publish.  
**

**Finally, please note that the story may change from T to M rating, depending on how the story changes/what direction I take. This will mostly be because of possible later sexual themes. **

**Please enjoy and review!**

_**-Em**_

* * *

**Chapter 1  
**_The Boy Hidden Behind Pen and Paper_

* * *

_Dear Finnick,_

_Oh man, I'm so nervous that I can't even hold the pen straight in my hand!_

_It's shaking all over the place. I really wish I was exaggerating.  
_

_Please excuse the weird marks all over the place.  
_

_It's silly, really. I know I already sent you a letter this week, but writing this down actually helps a lot. It's nice to know that I can tell someone how terrified I am, even if by the time you get this, we'll already have met. It's like letting go a breath that I've been holding for too long. I haven't eaten anything in days, and I can't remember the last time my stomach wasn't in knots. I guess I'm not very good at handling change, huh?  
_

_I wonder what you sound like._

_I wonder what you think I sound like._

_This is terrifying, but I'm really excited._

_Can you believe the moving truck is already here? Actually, it's more like a moving van, since we don't have much to bring. It's parked right in the extra parking spot that we never use. In fact, I can see it from my window as I write this. Dad's stuffing it with all of our stuff. _

_This is so surreal. _

_Yours,  
Annie_

* * *

Dad parks the truck in the driveway (an actual driveway!) beside the van packed tight with boxes, and the second I open my door a wall of heat pushes its way into the cab. It takes me by surprise, since I'm not used to the humidity, and I suddenly feel like I'm cooking in my jeans. I try to fan myself to offer my face some relief, but it does little to stop my pores from leaking like a broken faucet.

If my dad notices the humidity, he doesn't say anything, as he begins to unload our belongings. He doesn't ask for help, but I provide it anyway, taking the boxes from his arms and dropping them on the front porch. He swerves around me when he thinks the boxes are too heavy for me, but I try to involve myself in the task for as long as I possibly can, because it keeps my mind busy and away from the things that have been keeping me on edge. Plus, the faster we unload, the quicker we can begin to explore the new house.

It's not very big by the looks of it; nothing of grandeur, unlike most of the houses we've passed on the ride down here. Luxurious beach homes with nautical knick-knacks, fancy stone walkways, long pools, and what looks like millions of rooms.

Our home is much simpler, complete with only five rooms and one floor, which is really only what you need when it's just the two of you. Out front is an old front porch, with boards that creak no matter where you step. It's a funny sound, and I make sure to always hit the certain spots that creaks the loudest whenever I pass boxes through the front door.

Walking inside instantly brings you to a spacious, open room. It's what we're going to use as a living room. It connects through an archway to the kitchen, a fixture that I've dreamed of having for a long time. There's a hallway that cuts just before the switch form living room to kitchen, and it holds doors that lead to our bathroom, dad's room, and my room. At the dead end of the hallway is a closet, with one of those pull down stairs that lead into the attic. There's a basement as well, hidden behind a doorway that's planted in the kitchen, but from what I could explore it was mostly cobwebbed and musty; though pleasantly considerably cooler than the rest of the house.

We brought little with us, since our apartment could only hold so much. Just the essentials; the rest we sold to neighbors and old friends. Because of this, we finished unpacking pretty quickly, save for a few boxes tucked away in the corner of the kitchen. Our furniture was dropped off before us, and put in place by the movers before we even arrived. We spent the rest of the evening moving it around into the perfect set up, and I was spent by the time I got around to my room.

I sift through the remains of my boxes, spewing my things into the room until it began to feel like the room was finally mine. My heart leaped into my throat when I stuck my hand into a near empty bag, and my fingers brushed the wooden box that I used to keep my letters in.

I pulled it out gently and, sitting on the edge on my bed, opened the small latch that kept it closed. The hinges creaked lightly as I lifted the lid from years of use, and the sound felt like home. Ruffling through the smooth white and yellowed papers, I dug out the most recent letter I'd received from Finnick, and read it again for the 9th time.

_Hey, Annie!_

_It's kind of weird to see the date, you know? We've been counting down the days since you first found out you were moving. And now the little red X's I've been using to mark the calendar are getting closer._

_This is the last time I'm writing this address on the envelope. Freaky._

_Remember that time when I was 6 and couldn't remember if your house was number 78 or 79, so I sent the letter to your neighbor? It feels like that was just yesterday, you know?_

_I can't wait to meet you. It's going to be so cool showing you around! And you get to meet everyone. They won't just be names on paper, Annie, they'll be real people and you'll get to join in the stories, instead of read them! _

_Holy crap! (make sure you read the exclamation point, it's important that you do)_

_I'll see you Saturday, okay? 2 o'clock sharp, Ms. Cresta. Don't forget._

_-Finnick._

I brush my fingers over the last sentence. How could I forget, Finnick? In less than twenty four hours I'll finally be able to see your face? How could I forget when it's been on my mind since the first day I realized I would be able to?

He sounds excited. I notice it every time I read the letter - it's a detail that never fails to both surprise me and terrify me. I'm afraid I won't be what he expects; that when the alluring mystery of the girl hidden behind pen and paper is gone, all that's left will be me. Annie Cresta. He always goes on about the anonymity between us and spews theory after theory about me.

I'm guilty in the fact that I have my own theories of him, though secret they are. He's interesting, with all these different friends and stories and jokes and hobbies. He seems popular, well liked - someone who has always been the life of the party. Naturally, he's going to be beautiful. A unique face, an athletic build, from all the sports he takes up. He's charismatic; I know this from all the past girlfriends he's told me about.

Whatever he is, he's definitely a catch. And that pitches my stomach over the edge, because if he's a catch than I'm the small fish that gets thrown back in. I don't know what he's going to think of me, because even I don't know what to think of me. All I know is that when I see him, he'll be my world no matter what form he takes.

All I know is that I love the boy hidden behind pen and paper.

A soft knock on my door makes me jump, and I glance up to see my dad slipping through the open crack of my door. He smiles wearily at me, the sweat glistening from the tip of his nose and under his eyes. He pulls his glasses from his face and wipes it with the hem of his shirt, "You hungry, Annie?"

My stomach rumbles on cue, and I smile sheepishly, "I could eat something."

* * *

Since we don't have any food in the kitchen besides granola bars and fruit, nor do we have any take out menus, we decide to get in the car and investigate the selection of restaurants in town. I practically moan in pleasure when the air conditioning in the car kicks in, blowing sweet, crisp artificially cold air into my face.

"We should invest in one of these in the house." I comment quietly, putting the knob on high.

"I agree," Dad affirms, backing out of the driveway, "that and maybe some groceries. Unless you want to live off of granola bars, I mean."

We drive through downtown. It's a small strip of buildings and apartments and small shops. We pass a few chain restaurants like McDonalds and Denny's, but we decide to eat local first.

"How about there?" Dad asks, gesturing to a small white building with a sign out from that reads _The Harbor_.

We agree that it's perfect, since it's touristy, but not so much so. Since we just arrived here, it was agreed that we wouldn't try to put ourselves in one of those small diners that only locals flock to, for fear of snarky waitresses and curious looks.

A bell perched above the door jingles, and the sweet feeling of air conditioning hits our faces. I honestly don't think I'll ever take it for granted again. It's quaint inside with its sailor knick-knacks and placards of fake fish on the wall, which was painted to look like an ocean scene. Definitely touristy.

There are a lot of people inside, though, and I hug my arms to try to make myself smaller. It's not enough to shut me completely down, but I know I won't be comfortable until I sit down and take in the whole room, along with the faces.

A hostess plucks menus from behind the podium that stands right in front of the entrance, and asks us to follow her. She guides us through the maze of tables and talking people and I force myself to look at the back of my dads head as we make our way to the table. Everyone's so tan…

"Here okay?" She asks, but puts our menus down before we even answer, as if challenging us to refuse the table.

"Yep." My dad says, taking a seat. He lets me have the seat tucked against the wall, my back facing the crowd just as I like it.

I open my menu and try to avoid sweeping the room. I fidget with the ring on my thumb, the one my dad gave me last Christmas that spins when you turn it. He noticed how I always played with my hands when I'm nervous. It's been a handy gift.

I try not to frown when I notice that they don't have a list of possible non-alcoholic drink options, which means I'll have to ask her what my options are, and possibly make an idiot of myself. I could just get water…but I really want soda right now. I hate when restaurants do this. Is it that hard to put beverage choices on the menu?

The waitress arrives, and she's beautiful, with copper skin and long, blonde hair pulled into a tight pony tail. She beams at us, even though we aren't much to beam at.

When she takes our drink order, I end up just asking for water, because I didn't have enough time to put together how I wanted to ask for my options in regard to soda. My dad orders Coke, in the quiet, sure way of his. Sometimes I'm so jealous of how he can do that.

She smiles and takes a moment to write them down, before thanking us and leaving to put them in.

I flip through the menu, searching for something simple and cheap, and settle on clam chowder. She returns with our drinks and puts in our orders, and just as she leaves a loud group of what sounds like teenage boys enters the room and I stiffen. They're placed in the table right behind ours.

If there's anything I hate more, its groups of teenagers.

I try to drink my water and shrink in my seat. They laugh louder and I cringe, sure it's directed at me for some reason, even though I'm not doing anything. Dad doesn't notice a thing, just fiddles with a ketchup bottle and sips occasionally from his Coke. He taps his fingers on the table and that sets me even more on edge for some reason.

A particularly loud burst of laughter makes me jump, and I allow myself to turn and look.

Its about five of them. Three boys, two girls.

The girls are practical opposites, but both strikingly beautiful. One is pixie-like, with short, cropped hair. The other practically smolders, with ivory skin and a dark braid flung over her shoulder. The boys are beautiful. A pretty blond, who keeps knocking shoulders with the smoldering brunette, and a boy to her left who looks so much like her they could be twins. The third boy sits with his back across from me, with copper hair. He's the source of most of the loud laughter.

They're currently flinging paper balls from straw rappers at each other.

I turn around, relaxing a little knowing they aren't looking at me. I pick at my clam chowder when it comes, though, because my appetite has drained. I try to spoon it in my mouth when my dad glances at me from time to time, but other than that I can't really swallow it.

I'm so relieved by the time my dad gets the check, but then my heart sinks at the thought of having to get up and walk through the maze of tables and eyes in order to leave. I offer to fork over the tip, because the waitress was nice and didn't comment on how little I ate of my meal.

I don't move until my dad does, because my retreat is planned to be quick, and I can't do that if I have to wait for him to get up and push in his chair. I was planning on sneaking out of my chair quietly, but the boy behind me had his chair pushed out practically against mine, and I couldn't help knocking them together as I tried to shimmy out.

He turned to look at me in curiosity, and I sucked in a breath as I met eyes with him for a split moment. He had the kind of face that made babies stare and stray dogs follow you home. Beautiful, green eyes, prominent cheek bones, and jaw line that could work as a shelf if you tipped him upside down.

"Whoops, sorry," he apologized, smiling kindly before pulling his chair closer to his table.

I squeak a small "s'okay" before crawling awkwardly over the chair and stumbling to behind my dad, who was oblivious to the whole exchange and practically out the door by now.

I could still hear the laughing behind me, even as the door shut behind us.


	2. Metaphorical and Literal Signs

**Chapter 2  
**_Metaphorical and Literal Signs_

* * *

_Deer Pen Pal,_

_My name is Finnick Odair and I am 7 years old._

_You are my pen pal because my class is doing it._

_I like to ride my bisicle and swim in the oshen._

_From,  
Finnick_

* * *

_Dear Finnick,_

_I am Annie Cresta. I am 6 years old._

_I think you mean dear and bicycle and ocean._

_Thank you for the letter. _

_From,  
Annie_

* * *

I loved taking walks.

My street seemed to stretch for miles with its white, block-y sidewalks. That's another perk of my new home, not having to worry about being hit by cars.

As the sun went down, thankfully so did some of the humidity. I had a feeling I would still be cooking in my room tonight, however, since there was no screen on the window and there was no way I was going give every spider and mosquito within a five mile radius access to my space.

I start my walk by going left, down the longest portion of my street. I notice a few of the houses in the twilight. I don't attempt to cut down any side streets yet, since it's almost dusk and I'm not too positive I'd be able to find my way back if it gets dark.

As I walk, I think about Finnick. It's odd to know that he's somewhere around here, and I'm as close as I've ever been to him – that I'll have been even closer by this time tomorrow. I wonder what he's doing…

It's probably time to get home, since the street lights are beginning to flicker on. It's a bummer because I was hoping to get far enough to stumble upon the beach. I'd been dying to see it, but unpacking took up my time and energy.

Maybe Finnick and I will go see it tomorrow…

And just like that, the nervous butterflies hit me with full force.

I step up my pace to try to push them away, focusing on my strides instead of the way my stomach turns at the thought of what lays ahead tomorrow. I try to tell myself that it's just Finnick, that I shouldn't be so darn nervous, but that's the thing. It's _Finnick_. My best friend. The only person who knows almost all of my secrets, my desires, the whole _me_ that I'm too afraid to show to the world. The only person who's been there to help pick me up and put me back on my feet, to tell me that it was okay to be who I am.

The person who held me together

I'm terrified he's not going to hold me to the standards I hold him to. He's the be-all, end-all. He's the only person in my life, besides my dad, who I let in.

It's ironic, because if he were here now, he'd be telling me how silly it was how nervous I was. I can hear the voice I generalized as his whenever I read his letters in my mind now.

_"Jeez, Annie, it's only me!"_

That's the thing, though.

It is _him._

* * *

When I get home, I read his last letter again, and it calms me a little. I wonder if he's as anxious as I am. To ground myself even more, I dig through the box and pluck a random letter from the pile. By the looks of the writing, a scrawl even messier than his regular handwriting, it seems to be from the elementary Finnick era. I pull it from the envelope and smooth it out over my lap.

_Dear Annie,_

_Today was the first day of 6__th__ grade. We're up on the third floor now, with all the other older kids. The 8__th__ graders are scary let me tell you! They seem to like me though. I even got to talk to some of them about cool stuff! _

_Grandma Mags said I could invite them over and stuff but that sounds kind of babyish, you know? I don't know, what do you think?_

_I hope you have a good first day tomorrow, too. I know how nervous you get about this stuff. _

_I want to hear about it, okay?_

_Your Friend,_

_Finnick_

I smile and fold and stuff the letter back into the envelope. I did end up having a pretty good first day, now that I recall, which is odd because first days of anything for me are usually a God awful nightmare. I was, for the most part, left alone and one of the teachers even let us choose our own seats on the first day.

However, thinking about the first day of 5th grade made me start to think of the first day of sophomore year, which is coming whether I want it to or not in about a good week or so. I won't even have Finnick with me for the most part, because he's a junior.

He did write to me about it once, though.

_Sophomore year isn't much, Annie. It's kind of like you're the middle child, you know? You're not a freshman anymore, but you're not an upperclassman either. You're just kind of there, you know?_

He had a habit of putting "you know?" after most of his sentences. I wondered if he did it while he spoke, too. It would be cute if he did. I wonder if there's something like that about me that Finnick wonders if I do in person? I tried to rack my brain for something of the sort, but I couldn't come up with anything really.

I sift through more envelopes, and pluck one in the middle. It's crisp, and looks about a year old.

_Annie, _

_Merry Christmas! Or, I guess by the time you get this, late Christmas. Post Christmas? Possible New Year? You'd think after about 9 years of writing to each other, we'd coordinate this stuff better, you know? Oh well._

_How'd it go up there? Did you eat fruit cake and hang tinsel and build snowmen? I can assure you I did none of that. I don't even think I've ever seen a fruit cake in real life, to be honest. It sounds good._

_I tried building a sandman with my friends at the beach a few days ago, but it didn't work. So we all just kind of made sand angels. You're pretty lucky to have snow up there, you know? What's it like? Is it soft?_

_I should probably be writing this at the end of the day, but Grandma Mags is making me go to this weird Christmas party at one of her old friend's house, and I don't know what time I'll be back. We haven't even exchanged gifts yet, but for this letter's sake, I'll just tell you that Mags got me a time machine. I've already used it. I got to pet a dinosaur and tell Abraham Lincoln not to visit any plays._

_I hope you have a good Christmas, Annie, because you seemed sad in your last letter. While I read it, I wish I could have reached my hand through the paper and helped you. _

_Have a piece of fruit cake for me._

_-Finnick_

I can't recall what I was sad about because it could have been anything, really. I fold the letter up and put it away, closing the lid on the box and flicking the latch. I shove it in the top left drawer on my cabinet, where it fits perfectly. I wonder if I'll ever receive another letter from Finnick again. I hope so. I don't want the tradition to end…

But what would we even write about?

I change into a t-shirt and shorts and curl up on my bed, but my room feels like a sauna and I can't fall asleep because what's coming tomorrow is running through my mind, and every embarrassing thing I could ever do tomorrow is running through my mind, and the incident with the hot guy and the chair at the restaurant earlier is running through my mind. It's like a constant streaming of the scariest horror movie.

It's twelve in the morning when the business of the day catches up to me and I fall unconscious.

* * *

I wake up and the heat of the morning settles in my skin. I think I've sweat a full pound off since I arrived yesterday. I flop onto my stomach and burry my face in the pillow, trying to block out the sunlight pooling through the window and will myself to jump back into unconsciousness.

_You can't sleep today you've got things to do._

Such as?

_You're meeting Finnick today._

I jump up, and my heart pounds against my ribcage as I taste this thought.

I'm meeting Finnick today.

In about…I look at the clock. Five hours.

In about five hours I'm going to meet Finnick.

I hop from my bed and pad to the kitchen, my bare feet sticking the wood floor as I go. Everything here is sticky. It's kind of gross.

Dad's in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and sipping his coffee. He nods at my quietly when I enter. I don't bother to open the fridge because nothings in there. Instead, I steal an apple from the counter and chew on it.

"How was your night?" He asks quietly.

"Warm," I grimace, thinking of the puddle of sweat I woke up in. He nods in agreement.

"I was planning to find a hardware store today to find something to fix that."

"Let's just invest in an igloo." I offer and he chuckles into his mug. I have no idea how he can drink that when it's so hot out.

"What's on your agenda for today?" He asks and I almost choke on my apple. I focus on it in my hand, spinning it and nibbling lightly as I think.

"I was going to walk around town…check out the scene." It wasn't exactly false. I was planning on going sight seeing. Maybe even see if I could find a decent book store around here…

"If you're going to be doing that, make sure you bring water with you and put on plenty sun screen. The sun is different here, and I don't want you getting a heat stroke or something." He grimaces at the thought, "Also bring your phone with you."

I nod. Its quiet and I finish my apple. He makes a face when I bite into the core.

"I don't know how you do that," he says, wrinkling his nose.

I smile and toss the remains in the trash, "You want to shower first?" I already know what he's going to say, but it's routine that I ask every morning.

"Go ahead," he waves me on, bringing his coffee to his lips again, the mug swallowing his nose.

I make my way to the bathroom with towels under my arm. I don't wait for the water to heat up. The water pelts my skin like frozen rain and I sigh under the stream because it's such a relief. I towel off my hair when I'm done, but I have no idea what to do with it. I try to attempt the braid that I saw on the girl with the smoldering eyes in The Harbor, but I can't get it right. I settle for just pulling it back into a ponytail that drapes over my shoulder like a strap.

I slip into my room and pull on a pair of shorts and a tank top, trying not to dwell too much on what I'm wearing. If I invest too much into it I'll never be able to leave the house. Dumping my wallet and cell phone – a chunky flip phone that I dub the name "The Brick" – into my purse, I sling the long strap over my shoulder. After careful consideration, I decide to slip on some sunglasses, in hopes that some facial cover will help me relax a bit.

"I'm off," I announce to my dad, slipping through the door.

"Have fun."

"I will."

* * *

_Annie,_

_I think I know the perfect place to meet up. You want to hear it? _

_Of course you do, silly._

_So every summer, the town sets up this really cheesy, sort of God-awful tourist trap on the dock. They call it the Sunshine Fair, but honey, there ain't no sunshine there. It attracts a bunch of people, though, because it has…_

_Wait for it…_

_A Ferris wheel._

_Yeah. It's so old, though, that I'm surprised the bolts don't rust out and it rolls off into the sunset, you know?_

_Anyway, I think we could meet up at the Ferris wheel._

_What do you think?_

_-Finnick_

* * *

I'm early by at least a good hour. I overestimated where the dock was, thinking it would take a while to get there on foot. It wasn't hard to hound out, since I just had to follow the horde of people dressed in Hawaiian flower shirts and bearing mean, red sunburns. I hoped I didn't look like that.

I had to pay to get into the fair, something I wasn't too happy about, but I suppose it will be a good investment in the long run. I was happy to finally be able to see the ocean. The wonderful thing about it is it's never hard to find. You can tell where it is, because the horizon seems to just fall away over the rooftops of the houses. The trees disappear; the air gets thicker with salt and the cries of seagulls. It stretches for miles and miles and you want to swim and swim until you find the end, but you can't because you've drifted too far from where you can see your family sitting on shore under colorful umbrellas.

I lean awkwardly against the railing that separates the Ferris wheel from the bystanders, nervous that I'll get yelled at to get off, but no one seems to notice or care. I feel a bit relaxed, which is odd considering the amount of people here. I feel low-key and it's nice for a change.

I check the time on The Brick, and its ten minutes to one. I rub my hands together. Check The Brick again. People watch.

It's funny who's capable of walking by. They all are different characters, trying to cultivate into one living, breathing machine. Teenage girls with long, straight hair and skin so tan they look like walking copper pennies. Families of four and five with squeaky flip flops and tan lines on their faces where their sun glasses would be. Screaming children who insist on running through crowds and bumping into each other.

I watch the categories float by, and wonder which one I fit into.

I look at The Brick again, and I have less than a minute left, assuming he's going to show up perfectly on time. I swoop the area. I asked him once how we'd be able to know it was each other.

_I'll have one of those signs that chauffeurs use at the airport. It'll say "Annie Cresta" in fat, black letters. Just you wait._

I'm holding him to that.

I scuff my sneaker at the ground and kick every pebble within a two inch radius of my feet. I attempt to get the next one even further than the one I previously kicked, and I'm doing pretty dang well with that. When I run out of pebbles, I look up.

The first thing I see is the sign.

And then I see the green eyes and copper hair.

_Well, shit._


	3. In Which Boobies is a Manly Word

**I am so happy about the positive feedback I've been getting so far with this! Thank you so much, guys! I love that you're enjoying it so far, and seem to dig the plot line as much as I do!  
**

**This chapter is a little longer than the others, but I'm happy with how it came out.**

**Enjoy,**

**- _Em_**

* * *

**Chapter 3  
**_In Which "Boobies" is Totally a Manly Word_

* * *

_Dear Finnick,_

_I met you today._

_You were so beautiful, Finnick. It made me nervous. Like really nervous. My tongue twisted into a knot and I couldn't feel my hands. For a split second, you were just like every other beautiful boy that I have trouble making eye contact with. I was terrified I wouldn't be able to ever have a conversation with you and our friendship would crumble. _

_And then you said my name._

_And then it was you; the boy I've been writing to since age 6. The boy who knows me inside and out. The boy whose letters are the first things I look for when I tip my mailbox slot back after a long day of school._

_It was chilling._

_Did you feel like that with me, too? Was it hard to swallow at first? It couldn't have been as ground moving for you as it was for me. I'm sure of it._

_You dropped me off at my doorstep ten minutes ago. _

_I have no idea what to do with myself. I'm going crazy, Finnick._

_You were so beautiful._

_I'm writing this with the intention of never sending it…_

_Are you going to do the same?_

_Sincerely,  
Annie_

* * *

Instead of black letters, he decorated it in purples and blues. My favorite colors. It's written in the same script that I've come to memorize because I've read it over, and over, and over again.

He's the boy from the restaurant.

Finnick is the boy from the chair incident.

Finnick is _hot_.

His head swivels around the crowd, looking for me. He gets bored with holding the sign against his chest and ends up lifting it high above his head. The muscles in his arm flex and I melt into a puddle at my shoes.

I can't do this.

He meets my eyes for a moment and my heart catches in my throat, but then they flicker away, and my muscles relax.

Without thinking, my feet shuffle to him, and I don't even have time to stop myself before I say, "Finnick?"

His head snaps in my direction with a smile that sets me on fire glued to his face. His eyes flicker in recognition for a moment, and I blush scarlet. I can't move anymore. I'm still. I have to remind myself to breathe properly.

_In. _

_Out._

"Annie?"

It's like someone inflated me with cold air and everything comes back to me in chilling clarity.

It's Finnick, just in a different format.

That's all.

"Finnick!" I can feel my face beam, my smile pulling my cheeks taut.

"Annie!" He repeats, closing the final distance to pull me into a hug.

My face burns with blush and he's warm and a bit sweaty, but he smells like salt and sharp, masculine cologne. It's heavenly. Slowly, I bring my arms around him in return, and then I really start to sink into him. My nose presses into the spot nestled between his neck and the top of his shoulder. Like I've been there my whole life.

Too soon he pulls away, and I suppose it's for the best because his sign is digging into my shin. He drops it away, completely forgotten and I make a mental note to take it from him to keep. It's going to be one of those once in a lifetime sentimental things that will collect dust on my bureau.

"This is so weird!" He laughs and I blush again, because his voice is so orotund and has the consistency of honey, sweet and thick. It's not at all like I would expect - it's much, much better. Something my fragile imagination could never have dreamed to come up with. "Please pinch me! No, wait, I take it back! I don't want to wake up!"

He laughs and I swear it's going to seem like I have sunburn on my face if it doesn't stop blushing.

He's watching me expectantly now and I've only realized now that I've only said one thing to him, and it was his own name. I'm suddenly struck with the burden of filling the air with something, but I'm not one for conversations and the last thing I want to do is try to insinuate small talk with him. We are _way_ past those casualties by now; or so I'd assume.

"I'm sorry," I blurt, "Oh man, this is so weird I don't know what to say, can you believe this?" I mumble on and on and I catch him discreetly trying to get closer to hear what I'm saying, because my words are coming out quiet. My shy instincts are kicking in and I'm subconsciously trying to make myself seem smaller. Which sucks because I want to be huge with Finnick. I want to fill up his vicinity. What a mess.

"No need to apologize," he smiles brilliantly, reaching behind my head to tug at my ponytail, "I know what you mean. I'm just a chatterbox, if you haven't caught on yet."

I laugh but it seems forced and obnoxious to me. "You do seem to have troubles with run-on sentences."

He shrugs, the smile never faltering, "My English teacher seems to think the same."

I smile in return and it's quiet as we just look at each other for a while, taking each other in. He's not at all what I pictured of him. What does he think of me, then? What were his expectations?

I hold out my hand to him and try to ignore the way it shakes as I say, "Hello, I am Annie Cresta."

His expression is amused as he grasps my hand and shakes it firmly, "Finnick Odair. Pardon me if I'm wrong, Miss Cresta, but I can't say I've seen you before. Are you new to the area?"

"Brand new!" I exclaim, stretching the joke, "Just flew in from the north side of the country this mornin' with my dear old Paw! Such a beautiful town."

He makes a face, poking his tongue through his teeth and it's the most adorable thing I've ever seen, "Beautiful? _This old fishing town?_ You northerners…."

I laugh and realize he hasn't let go of my hand yet, but is instead stroking the palm with his thumb. We smile at each other and it's just like nothing is different. It's as if the words he's written on paper jumped off the sheet and assembled into a living, breathing being.

It's Finnick and I'm Annie and we're best friends.

"I can't believe this is real." He murmurs, as if he were reading my mind, "I know I keep saying that, but wow, Annie, you're _really finally here_." He whispers my name and it sends a tingle to my toes.

I blush and don't speak because I don't know what to say because really, he's taken all the words I could use. It's ironic because usually I'm the one with the more extensive vocabulary; who elongates details when recounting stories or feelings onto the paper. He's waiting for me to speak.

"I know. This is weird, weird, weird…" He drops my hands and it burns against the open air.

I pull it up to push back my hair, only to remember I have it tied up, and instead run a hand through my ponytail. He reaches up to retake my hand, stretches it towards him to observe the ring my dad gave me on my finger. He spins the wheel. He tugs at the small collection of bracelets on my wrist.

"I hope this isn't weird." He coughs, peaking up to gaze at me before returning to observing the jewelry on my arm, "It's just…I feel like I have to touch you to know you're here…wow that came out weird. Oh man. That's _not_ what I meant. It's just…"

"No," I interrupt and he looks up sheepishly, "…No, don't worry I get it…yeah…me too."

"You can tell me if I'm being too forward, you know?" I mentally jump inside because _he does do that "you know?" thing in real life_, "If I'm making you uncomfortable, Annie, you can tell me."

"No…it's nice." I blush and he smiles shyly, before turning over my hand so the back of it is cupped in his palm. "It's real."

I just wish I wasn't shy enough to do it back. I'll work up to it eventually, I hope.

Baby steps.

"I can give you a palm reading, you know?" He smirks and I watch him trace his fingers against the lines engraved in my palm.

"Really?"

"Nah, not really."

We laugh and he lets me go. I put the hand he was holding over the strap of my bag, tugging on it like a guitar string. He watches me with a smile and this feels so unreal because never, not in a million years (or my 16 years of life, to be exact) has a boy _this_ attractive ever given me as much as a _passing glance_. And he's _beaming_ at me.

"So…what did you have planned for today?" I ask, wringing my hands on the strap of my bag.

He slips his own hands in the pockets of his shorts and shrugs, "We could hit the fair or I could show you around town. Cheesy beach tour, included."

"A whole beach tour, just for me?" I gasp, throwing a hand to my chest, "Mr. Odair, you shouldn't have!"

"Alright, Miss Snark, if my ideas are so dumb what do _you_ suppose do?"

"I never said they were dumb," I smirk, feeling playful which is weird. I don't know where this is coming from, "The beach tour actually sounds fun."

"Well, it doesn't come in until later. Since I am a man of class, I reserve my beach tours for sunsets, thank you very much."

"What a gentleman!" I fake swoon, "Sunsets on the beach!"

"Pretty sunsets for pretty ladies, naturally." He winks, hooking an arm around mine and I blush so hard it shuts me up. He peaks at me from the corner of his eye and it makes me blush deeper.

Before we head out, I make a point to grab the sign he made before it blows away in the wind. Folding it up, I stick it in my bag. I poke him in the shoulder, and decide that's a step in the right direction. _Baby steps._

"You owe me the 8 bucks I had to pay to get in here."

He laughs a clear laugh, "Why did you _pay_? You literally could have just climbed over from the beach. We do that all the time."

I flush in embarrassment. Why didn't I think of that? "Not a local, remember? I'm technically a tourist as of right now."

He shivers, "Oh man! Don't _ever_ call yourself that."

"Oops," I mumble, suddenly bashful. He winks at me and I blush again.

Ridiculous.

* * *

His tour of the town was plentiful and informative and overall just enjoyable. I can't remember a moment in my life where I'd been more happy or entertained. Finnick was even more of a character than his letters let on, and I try to not let that affect me much; that I may not know as much about him as I thought I did.

He towed me along, weaving through shops and pointing out homes and establishments, filling me in on anything and everything. I found out that he could name more people than I could count on both hands, in only five minutes. I barely even knew who lived next door to me back at my old apartment…

"That's Chloe Sevigny's house. She's a wild card. Everyone drools over her, but I can't see the allure. I'm sure she's a sweet girl and all but…_yeesh_. And that house is where Peter Johnson lives. Dude is hilarious, but a huge tool. His conversation topics usually range from female anatomy to muscle cars. Its like, '_hey, Peter, buddy, I like boobies as much as the next guy but, seriously, can we talk about something else for a while?_'"

I snort in a rather unattractive fashion at that.

"What?" He smirks at me, nudging me with his elbow and I teeter a bit to the side, caught off balance.

"Did you just say 'boobies'?" I giggle, skirting around an old couple as we pass them on the sidewalk. They give me a curious look, after hearing me say 'boobies'.

"Hell, yeah!" He grunts, puckering his lips, "It's a manly-man thing, Annie, you wouldn't understand the allure of the booby."

"Apparently not," I shake my head, smiling at my feet. He links arms with me and I blush at the sudden touch. I'm not used to such a thing…

"That's _Orieda's_, one the best cafes in town. I gotta take you there some time. You aren't a local until you've had one of _Orieda's_ famous lobster rolls." He pats his stomach and exaggerated licking his lips, "I'm drooling just thinking about it."

"I can feel it. I think I just stepped in a puddle." I mock sheepishly, still not used to using sarcasm to his face. In letters, I would be the queen of sass. We'd go back and forth for pages at a time. But there's a difference between looking at words compared to actually looking him in the eye.

He uses the arm that links us to tug me across the street, towards what looks to be a gift shop, "Oh, man, Annie, you _have_ to check out this place!"

The door to the shop opens, and announces our arrival with a tiny bell perched above the frame. The wall of heat outside meets the familiar block of AC when entering the establishment, and I practically melt in my sneakers at the feeling. Finnick chuckles at my reaction, flicking me on the arm.

"You'll get used to the heat."

I'm holding him to that.

I follow him quietly through the seemingly empty store. The space is mapped out with shelves of trinkets and jewelry. Sea glass and shells and beads rest in plastic bins. Ceramic fairies dance on dusty shelves. A soft bubbling comes from the back of the room, and we turn the corner to find tiny fountains with splashing waterfalls.

Beta fish are perched in cups on a shelf above the fountains. Normally, the sight of them in pet stores usually makes me feel upset, but these fish look healthy. There's only about four, so they aren't being mass produced. It looks like the store owners are taking care of them while they wait to be brought to a home.

I observe one in particular.

He's gorgeous, with a sleek blue-green bodice. His fins sweep over his body, their tips as if dipped in black ink. He circles the cup a few times before stopping to look at me. He stares for a few moments, before continuing on his loops. I watch him, mesmerized for a while before Finnick's fingers sweep my shoulder and make me jump.

"Remember my pet fish, Max?" He asks quietly and I do. Max died a few years ago, and it was the first and last time I'd heard of him. Finnick was really upset when he passed. I nod, watching his expression. He doesn't look sad now, just thoughtful. A ghost of a smile hits his face, "I got him here."

I smile and take one last look at the blue-green fish before continuing on.

He keeps swimming.

As promised, we ended up on the beach.

It was late in the day. The sun was beginning to set, so the tourists with the large families had cleared out a few hours prior. The lurkers were the couples and occasional surfers, their wet suits zipped up to their chins.

It was a nice switch to go from blazing and wet air to windy and salty in a matter of minutes. The sea breeze liked to pick up my ponytail and fling it around, making it so I had to stand facing the wind to avoid getting slapped with my own hair.

It was nice though, walking with Finnick along the surf, listening to the seabirds and occasionally toeing at washed up debris. It was amazing to see what the ocean could manage to pick up and drop off. When I had accidentally voiced my amazement at it, Finnick said that ever since he was a little boy, he'd search the shore of a bottle with a message in it.

He's yet to find one.

When we had made it halfway down the beach, he stopped suddenly to sit in the sand. Reluctantly, I joined him on the ground, the warm, wet sand prickling against my skin. I shoveled it with my hands and watched the grains fall through my fingers. Finnick made a cup under my hands, and we made a game of seeing how long we could get a single pile to last by funneling it back and forth into each others palms. It was when we got to 25 hand-offs with one single pile that it seriously hit me.

I was sitting on the beach…with Finnick Odair.

And it was just like he was never that anonymous person behind a piece of paper. It had never been awkward - not once. Not when I discovered that my actual first time meeting him I'd made an ass out of myself trying to get out of my chair. Not when he pulled me in for a hug. Not when he touched my arm or tugged at my hair or brushed my hand. All things that would usually send me spiraling into myself, all felt like things I'd been doing since I'd been born.

Being with Finnick was as natural to me as breathing or eating or blinking.

The sun began to set when we got to 57 passes. I looked up for a moment to watch the sky set on fire, but Finnick was more distracted with the game.

I watched the sun dive into the water while Finnick's fingers tickled the back of my hand.

* * *

His footsteps hit the squeaky board on my deck and I smile at the sound.

"I still can't believe you're here, in the flesh." He smirks, tucking a piece of my hair behind my ear. Am I in a teen romance movie right now? Is this real life? Is Finnick Odair really dropping me off at my front porch and touching my hair?

"I'll still be fleshy tomorrow, too." I shrug and wince internally at what I just said. He laughs, though, but I'm not sure if its at the joke or at me in particular.

"I'm going to hold you to that," he waggles a finger at me, "since we're definitely hanging out."

"I'll try to pencil you in, I suppose," I smirk and he flicks at my nose.

"That's the best I could hope for I guess." He winks and then offers me his hand.

I take it and he pulls me in for a hug, his arms wrapped tight around my body, his palms flat against my back. He's warm and he's everywhere and I blush profusely. I hug him back with shaking arms, my hands placed awkwardly on his hips. He sighs and lets me go.

"Still okay with that kind of stuff?" He asks and my heart melts at his shy expression.

"Still okay." I assure.

_Definitely okay._

* * *

I rip a piece of scrap paper out from my notebook. My pencil sits clenched between my teeth, my tongue poking at the yellowed wood. I jump on my bed and instantly the words pour like always. I fold it gently when I'm finished and push it into the box I keep all my letters in.

Its the first letter I've never intended to send to Finnick.


	4. The Simple Art of Fence Hopping

**Wow, guys, I'm sorry this chapter is late. I try to update at least every Thursday or Friday, but finals are starting and everything got crazy.  
**

**My apologies.**

**Also I'd like to call to attention that in this universe, Annie _does_ deal with a form social anxiety, among other things. She calls it getting "nervous". I'm trying to get it as accurate as I can, and I sure hope I am. However, if you see anything that's incorrect/offensive, please don't hesitate to call me out on it. I would like to correct any/all mistakes if there are any.**

**Thank you, and enjoy.**

_**-Em**_

* * *

**Chapter 4_  
_**_The Simple Art of Fence Hopping_

* * *

_Dear Finnick,_

_Sorry about the extra letter in the mail this week._

_I just can't seem to stop shaking. I'm kind of just waiting for my emotions to pass right now, so that's why I decided to write to you. Is it weird to say that letters to you are kind of a therapy for me?_

_It's a nice distraction; lets me breathe and stop feeling so small._

_Sorry. I don't mean to vent here, really I don't. I don't know how you respond to my negativity, because I'm not there to see you read this._

_But…I just need this, okay? You can even throw this away when you're done._

_I'm not shaking very much anymore._

_I suppose I should explain why I was, huh?_

_Or maybe just ramble some more…_

_Ha, just kidding. I'll tell you, though I'm sure you must know the reason by now._

_I just don't understand why I can't operate correctly in the world. Why is it so hard for me to fit in? I don't like being nervous all the time, Finnick. It makes me feel sick – like physically ill. With an upset stomach and everything. _

_I hate first days of anything, they make me more paranoid than usual._

_I feel like a puzzle piece that's been chopped in half, trying really hard to be apart of the beautiful picture. I think I'm thinking too much, though._

_I can breathe properly now. I think it's passed._

_I should probably stop here…tell dad what happened._

_Yours,  
Annie._

* * *

Pushing my cereal around in my bowl, I watch it slowly soak up the milk. I'm antsy because, though Finnick said he wanted to hang out again today, I have no idea when he's going to show up. My knee bounces up and down and shakes the floor and I don't notice I'm doing it until dad looks up from his newspaper to give me a look.

"You seem…worked up." He comments quietly and I stuff a spoonful of Cheerios into my mouth. They're gross and soft from the prolonged exposure to milk, but it gives me time to stall because I don't really know how to answer that.

To anyone else, it may seem like my dad is just quietly reading the newspaper, but I know that he's really trying to diagnose me before I go off the edge again. But I don't _think_ I'm going off the edge this time; more like just nervous. Either way, he's tiptoeing through my state of mind as subtly as he can.

"It's this heat," I finally say and it sounds like a good excuse to me.

Technically, this constant humidity _is_ driving me insane. Dad went to go see about getting an air conditioning unit, and unfortunately the hardware store isn't going to be getting another shipment for another week or so. Apparently this year has been even more of a scorcher than usual.

He hums quietly and flips the page. I think I'm safe from the questioning for now. I swirl the milk in my bowl to make a Cheerio-universe black hole, the squishy O's linking together and spinning radically around and around. The phone rings and we look up from our respected activities to stare at each other in awe.

No one has called us since we've arrived here.

Slowly, and upon the principal that we both know that I would never willingly answer the phone, my dad rises to answer it. He plucks the chunky white receiver from the wall station it's perched and offers a feeble greeting. He waits and then his eyes flash curiously to my direction, his eyebrow kicking up just above the square of his thick framed glasses.

"Uh…yeah, she's right here…okay, here you go," he puts the phone against his shoulder and whispers, "It's for you."

I get up and take the phone from his hands. He gives me a questioning look before scuttling off to the other room, probably to give me privacy.

"Hello?" I whisper into the receiver.

"Good morning, ma'am, my name is Bob Kosher and I'm here to let you know that your subscription to _Farmers Digest_ has run out." A deep voice echoes in my ear, and for a moment I'm confused, "If you would like to renew your subscription, please press one. If you wish to cancel, please press four. If you'd like to join me at the pier this afternoon, blink twice."

"Finnick?" I breathe, a smile stretching across my face.

"Annie!" Finnick exclaims and something ricochets off my heart and drops into my stomach.

"How'd you get my number?"

"There is this funny thing called a phone book." He says, as if it's obvious. And…well, it kind of is. "So, did you blink?"

"Not yet. My eyes are watering from the dryness." I joke, pressing my shoulder against the wall to lean into it.

"I'd bet you'd be awesome at staring contests."

"I'd bet you're right."

"So…pier? There's an end of summer festival going on there today," he steers the conversation back, "I can meet you at your house, if you want. We can walk there."

"Sounds great," I smile, twirling the phone cord around my finger, "I'll go get ready. 11 sound good?"

"Perfect. See you, Annie."

"Bye, Finnick."

His end of the line ends with a soft _click_.

At 11:08, I watch him walk up my street, his being tinted by the sunglasses perched on my nose. He waves and I return it, pushing myself up from my sitting position on the deck to meet him halfway. My stringed bag bounces against my backside as I approach him.

"I never noticed how long your hair is," is the first thing he says, reaching up to lift a strand and examine it.

I bravely left it down today, hoping the humidity doesn't frizz it out or get too hot around my neck. It ends a few inches above the small of my back, the strands forming the perfect curtain to hide my face in when I need it. I push my sunglasses up, forming a makeshift headband with them to keep the hair out of my face.

"I've been growing it out ever since the gum incident." I shiver at the memory.

When I was twelve, my cousin dropped a piece of gum into my hair. The end result was my dad practically sheering it out of my head, and then butchering the rest of my hair to try and even out where the chunk had been. It wasn't good, as Finnick would know from the two-and-a-half pages of me just complaining about the new hair-cut.

"It's nice." He smiles and I smile back. "Well, Miss Cresta, shall we go?"

"Yeah, but…do I need money? To get in?"

He just looks at me, giving me a cocky grin.

"What?" I blush. Did I say something stupid?

"Oh, Annie…looks like I'm going to have to teach you the art of fence hopping."

* * *

"Fence hopping" was actually nothing more than cutting through the patch of sea rocks that accumulate on the edge of the beach, and shimmying up onto the dock. From there, he brought me to a back entrance to the fair, and we went through a completely open part of the fence. He was laughing at the incredulous look on my face when we were swept into the crowd of people who actually _paid_ to get inside.

"You have to be kidding me…"

"Just think, Annie, this could have been you!" He gestured to the array of sunburned bodies around us. Bodies that paid seven dollars to get in, when they could have just walked through the back fence.

"Ridiculous." I muttered as he towed me along. I didn't care where we ended up, honestly, just more or less that he was touching my wrist as he pulled me along.

I'll still never get over Finnick touching me.

The fair was crowded, but fun. There were booths set up along the peer selling food, items from the local shops in town, and other small trinkets. He pulled me to a food truck that sold particularly yummy ice cream, frozen yogurt, and gelato. At the end of the pier, was a large stage set up, where bands would interchange between sets and people would come and go to watch. We ended watching a band perform a set, but had to leave half way through when the spectators (made up primarily of rowdy teenagers) started getting a big rough. They were throwing large beach balls and a group started a mosh-pit that consisted mainly of just shoving. It wasn't unbearable, but I've been hardwired to avoid things like that.

I think us leaving had been partially my fault, though, because Finnick didn't seem as phased by the shoving as I did.

I'm hoping that's just a boy thing and I'm not over reacting like I always do.

He was sweet, though, getting me out of there as soon as he noticed I was upset. He honestly helped me before anything got to bad. He didn't even comment on it afterwards, which was a huge bonus that I was eternally thankful for.

The music was good, though, and if you listened well enough you could hear it throughout the whole fair. If you couldn't, there were speakers set up everyone, playing bubbly summer pop songs that I both recognized and didn't.

Finnick knew everyone. I can't recognize a minute where he hadn't been waving to someone or calling out phrases like, "Hey!" and "What's up, man?" He wasn't rude about it, like some people usually are. Never once did he ignore me to talk to someone else. He just knew a lot of people.

For once, it was a comfortable kind of warm day. The sun perched around the clouds, the rays coming and going almost like clockwork, adding instant shaded relief whenever it had begun to feel like you'd turn into a puddle in your sandals. The ocean breeze from the beach occasionally picked up over the pier, adding to the mass cooling of hot bodies. I don't think I was getting _too_ burnt today.

We ended up getting hot dogs from one of the food trucks parked along the dock and sat down on a ledge that had our feet dangling over the gentle swells. When the waves would crash against the columns holding the pier up, ocean water would spray at my toes and tickle my skin.

Finnick had practically inhaled his hot dog with a breathtaking three bites, and I was in the process of nibbling mine when he bumped my shoulder with his own. I peered up at him through the end of my hot dog curiously, and he smiled at me shyly.

"How you doing, Annie?" He asked softly, swinging his legs through the air.

At first, I was confused by the random question, "Good?" I answered through a swallow of my hot dog.

"That's good," he absentmindedly ran his hand across the nape of his neck, "because I know how you are with…um, crowds. I just didn't want you to be miserable today…I mean, well, I hoped you weren't. I couldn't tell. I just…well, I've heard all about how nervous you get and the anxiety attacks you get. But I've never actually _seen_ you have one before so I didn't know what to look for…"

I smile at him as I watch him fumble through his words, obviously trying not to offend me. And he wasn't; it was actually very sweet that he was worried about me having an anxiety attack.

"Its fine, Finnick," I assure him, "_I'm_ fine. I actually had fun today."

"You weren't nervous at all? Not even with all these people?"

I shook my head, and smiled because it was true. I hadn't noticed even noticed how well I was reacting to everything today. The only time I really felt nervous was when we were stuck in the crowd at the stage.

"Surprisingly…no," I beam, "I think you were a good distraction today. I didn't have _time_ to think about all the people…"

My memories flash to the numerous occasions where writing to Finnick had calmed me down after particularly hard days. How just being able to tell someone, and know that they really care, was enough to get me to stop shaking. And even now, just the idea of being next to him is enough to curb the usual sinking in my belly that I get in public places.

I laugh and he watches me curiously.

"So…" he says after a moment and I finish my hot dog.

"So."

"I don't think we ever actually took a moment to _talk_ about all of this." He gestures to me and then to him.

I rub my hands over my thighs and watch as I slap my flip flops against my heels. He's right; we never really did talk about this whole thing. We just sort of met up yesterday and acted as if we've known each other for _years_. Which I suppose is true, but the way we were going about it was strange. I'd never thought I'd be so relaxed around a body I'd never seen before so quickly as I did with Finnick.

"What do you want to talk about?" I ask because I don't know what to start with; there's too much buzzing in my head to chose.

He shrugs in a full-body way that lifts his entire torso up, "I don't know. This is just really strange…but a good strange." He smiles at me and I blush, "You're not how I pictured you at all."

My heart catches into my throat and I fight back my subconscious as it screams at me, _I told you so! I told you so!_

"You're _exactly_ how I pictured you," I blurt, because I want to get the topic of how he pictured me versus how I _actually_ look off the table of discussion. "With…some differences." They're actually more like bonuses, really.

He snorts and the sea breeze picks up and pushes my hair into my eyes.

"Really?" He smirks, "_Exactly?_"

I nod because it's true. It may not be in the way he's thinking of it, with details and hair color and face structure, but the two worlds of Finnick that I know are exactly the same to me.

The Finnick on paper is beautiful.

The Finnick in person is breathtaking.

He reaches up to tuck the blowing strands of hair behind my ear closest to him. I try to hide my hitch of breath. "How so?" he asks quietly, his expression curious.

"Um…" I fumble, staring at my hands, "Well…you're just exactly how I see you when I read your letters. Confident, easy going, popular…"

"Popular, huh?" He smirks playfully and I blush. He nudges my arm. "You want to know how I pictured you?"

God, _no_.

"Not really." I admit sheepishly.

"Why not?"

I grimace. The sun peeks out from behind the clouds and puts a hot hand on the tops of my shoulders. "Because I know I'm not…" I pause.

"Not?"

"What you expected?" I shrug, "I don't know. I'm just…different." He nods in agreement and I wring my hands together and continue talking, "Like…_bad_ different. I already know this. I just don't want to hear it, okay?"

"Bad different?" He echoes and I nod shyly, my hair curtaining my face, "How?"

This is going _exactly_ how I didn't want it to.

"I don't know!" I press my lips into a straight line, meeting his eyes for the first time since this conversation started. His green eyes are startled and sad, "You're like really awesome and stuff and meeting you in person was exactly everything I thought it would be, and then there's just me…I don't know. I'm plain?"

"Annie Cresta!" He sounds appalled and I watch him rub his hand over his face in exasperation, "Tell me, do you hear yourself right now?" He chuckles dryly.

"Stop laughing at me!" I scoff.

He holds up his hands, "Woah, woah, lets back up!" Small laughs bubble from his lips like foam, "I just…you think you're plain?"

"And? So?"

"Wait a moment!" He pushes a finger to my lips, "Just let me recap, okay?" I frown against his finger and he continues, "You think you're plain. And, judging by a bit of context clues I've picked up, you basically are under the impression that I've suffered some world-stopping let down by actually meeting you in person? Is this correct?"

He hit the nail right on the head, to be honest. I nod and he drops his hand when he realizes how awkward it is for me to move anything above my neck with his hand there.

He lets out a long, low whistle, "Well, Miss Cresta, it seems we have some information to clear up."

I watch him rise to his feet, brushing the non-existent dirt off of his shorts. He offers me a hand and I sheepishly grasp it as he helps pull me up. He doesn't let go of my hand after I'm up, though, just holds it firmly in his. His palm swallows it easily, my pale fingers disappearing under the copper of his skin.

"First of all, you're _not_ plain, Annie Cresta."

I opened my mouth to object, but he does that stupid finger thing again and I'm at a loss for words already at the sensation of his skin on my lips.

"Second, meeting you was probably the best part of my entire summer. My entire life, even." He flashes me a full-blown white-toothed smile. "I finally got to see one of my oldest best friends in person. That's not something I'm not taking lightly."

My stomach flips at that. So, he thinks of me as a best friend, too.

"Third, I believe you didn't quite understand what I was trying to say when I told you that you weren't how I pictured you. I apologize for that, Annie, because really you took it the complete incorrect way." The hand holding mine slides up my arm and lands on the top of my shoulders, now pink with fresh sun burn, "What I meant was that you're better than how I pictured you, you know? Wow…that sounds cheesy."

It did. But it also sounded nice. I could understand when he put it that way, because that's exactly what I thought about meeting him. That he outshone any expectations I'd had of him.

"Just one thing before we drop this topic all together," because boy did I really want to do that, "Is that a good better, or…?"

"Definitely a good better." He rolls his eyes. "Okay, now? Are you getting what I'm saying?"

"I think so." I nod, biting my bottom lip.

He smiles, "Good. Because I was thinking…maybe we could go to this bonfire they're having at the beach tonight."

I smile in return, "Sure."

He smiles wider, which sounds creepy but on Finnick it was alluring.

"Great! Because the crew was going to be there and I can't wait for you to meet them!"

Oh.

_Shit._


	5. An Evening with The Crew

**Hey guys. Not much to say here, but just thanks so much for the positive feedback!  
**

**You all rock!**

**-Em**

* * *

**Chapter 5  
**_An Evening with The "Crew"  
_

* * *

_Hey, Annie!_

_Oh man, I had the best day today!_

_The crew and I decided to ditch today, since it was practically the last day of school, and we weren't doing anything important. Finals just finished and it was one of those days where teachers either have stupid last-minute worksheets or movies planned. _

_We decided to meet up with Gale, since he'd graduated a week ago and no one had really seen him since then. _

_Lucky bastard. _

_We were going to go the beach, but Johanna insisted it was really cliché to go there, and we couldn't exactly walk around town because someone would see us, so we just hung out at her house and watched movies. _

_I wish you could have been there, you know?_

_It was one of those days where everything feels awesome and everything everyone says is so funny and the world just melts off your shoulder._

_It would have been awesome if you were there._

_Oh, well. Just a few more months and you can be, I suppose._

_I can't wait for you the meet the crew, Annie._

_Hell, _I_ can't wait to meet you, Annie._

_Talk to you later,_

_-Finnick_

* * *

He watches me with this excited puppy dog look and I sort of stare at my feet. He wants me to meet the "crew", aka the people he's written about time and time again. The group of kids he grew up with; his other friends. From the sounds of it, really cool people. People way out of my league. People I'll have _nothing_ in common with.

He wants _me_ to meet _them_.

Right now, out of the blue, with little to no time for me to prepare myself.

I'm going to throw up.

"Annie?" He asks.

Like, really, seriously throw up.

"Hey…"

My stomach hurts…

"We don't have to, if you don't want to…I mean, I just…" he sounds really freaking sad and it makes me sad, so I shake my head violently.

"No, we can." I find myself blubbering, trying to take the frown off his face, "Yeah, no we can totally meet them."

He still looks really hurt, though, and I feel like an ass, "You don't have to do what you don't want to do, Annie. It's fine if you don't want to meet them."

I shut my eyes because he's making it harder to say no when he makes that face, "Finnick."

"Annie."

"Finnick."

"Are you sure?"

No.

"Yes."

* * *

We trudge down the beach, my steps wobbling under the shifting sand. I play with the strings of my backpack, letting my hair cut loose and smack me in the face as the sea breeze kicks it. When sand starts filling my shoes to the point where I'm positive my flip flops are trying to imitate a pair of shovels, I bend over awkwardly to kick them off. I end up tripping on my own feet in the process and slap a hand on Finnick's shoulder for support. He holds me up gently with the arm that's connected to the shoulder I'd taken hostage, and I accept the semi-forced help with deep scarlet cheeks.

"You seem nervous." He observes, letting me go when I regain my footing. The lush grains of sand attempt to swallow my feet.

"Why would you say that?" I joke as we continue walking. I attempt to stuff my shoes into my bag while it's still on my back; trying to minimize the number of times we have to stop because of me.

"No reason."

I eye him skeptically when we hear a distant shout. I look up, surprised that we had stumbled upon the bonfire so quickly.

Well, technically it wasn't a bonfire yet, since the sun hadn't dropped yet and nor was there any fire. There was, however, a pile of driftwood that had been scrounged up, with a plethora of beach chairs and towels circled haphazardly around it. Coolers and umbrellas and bottles lay perched in the sand. Assorted equipment like boogie-boards and beach balls and footballs lay scattered around the designated sight. Someone had brought a radio, which was belting music that was trying to compete with the sound of the surf.

It was a giant group of teenagers, the kind of group that people avoid when setting up a place to stay on the beach. The kind _I _would avoid wholeheartedly; would walk in the other direction if I were to stumble upon them.

The loud kind with about 15 - 20 bodies present, all of mixed genders.

The first person we approach is poking at the pile of drift wood with a long stick. He's tall and his lack of shirt exposes the taught muscles on his torso and arms, which is covered in olive-colored skin. His flop of dark hair catches my attention and I immediately recognize him as one of the boys who sat with Finnick during the Chair Incident at the _Harbor_.

"Hey, Gale." Finnick greets, stopping next to the man to watch him poke at the drift wood some more.

Gale nods at Finnick, his gaze flickering to me long enough for me to catch his haunting gray eyes, before turning back to whatever it is he's doing with the drift wood. Not even a "hello", which shouldn't bug me but does anyway. I hug my arms to my chest and try to ignore that I'm here.

"Where is everyone?" Finnick asks, and I wonder who 'everyone' could be, because there must be at least 20 people here. As if to accentuate the point, a group of about five or six people laugh loudly behind us. I cringe.

Gale shrugs, "Catnip was here, like, five minutes ago. I think she left to get more firewood. You know how she is with these things."

Finnick chuckles.

Gale continues, "Last time I saw Peeta, he was tossing a football around with Cato and the likes. Johanna is slinking somewhere around here. I don't know. I kind of stopped paying attention when I noticed that there was little to no care going into the actual bonfire itself."

"Leave it to you two to get the fire started."

"Yeah, well, you fuckin' boat kids don't know how to do anything but tie knots and splash each other." He shrugs, smirking to himself.

"And doggy-paddle, don't forget doggy-paddle."

Gale chortles loudly and Finnick pulls me deeper into the heart of the party. He doesn't _actually_ pull me; but I do follow him around as he greets unnamed people and jokes quietly with a few girls. I'm quiet through it all because I don't know what to do, and he doesn't exactly go out of his way to introduce me, which annoys me a bit. He said he wanted me to meet his friends, but he didn't even introduce me to Gale. I'm trying to not let it get to me, because I'm sure this is as awkward for him as it is for me, even though he's pretty good at hiding it. I wouldn't know how to go about introducing me either.

He circles the area that the teenagers had claimed as their own a few times, occasionally spinning around to look at me with one eyebrow arched in a question, as if to be asking, _still okay? _I just nod every time and keep walking, following as close to his heels as I can get without actually walking into his back, which I had accidentally done a few times when he would stop unexpectedly to greet someone.

I was sure we'd gone around the whole bonfire sight a whopping six times, when a disembodied voice called out behind us, "Odair!"

Finnick swiveled on instant, practically knocking me over in the process. His hand caught hold of one of my flailing limbs, catching me before I could topple all the way down.

"Shit, Annie, sorry!" He apologizes, one of the first things he'd actually said to me since we'd arrived.

"'S fine," I mumble beside him, but my response gets blocked out by the reunion of Finnick and whoever had called his name.

I stand awkwardly to the side as the person, from what I can see a girl, is enveloped in a massive bear hug by Finnick. He spins her for a half a circle until she beats on his back so hard he lets her go, laughing the whole time. She runs a hand through her short, cropped hair when he puts her down, and glares at him.

"Sorry, Jo," he shrugs, the smirk on his face showing that he's obviously not sorry, "You know how I like to rile you up."

"No, _you know_ that I don't like to be picked up." She argues, crossing her arms.

"Not my fault you're shortness makes it so appealing to do so."

He's right about the short part. Johanna barely reaches the top of his chest, with a small structure; her short hair giving her the complete pixie look.

She glances at me, but unlike Gale, she doesn't look away. "Who's this?"

"That's Annie!" Finnick beams, tossing an arm around my shoulders and pulling me against his chest.

The embrace felt weird; staged. Despite this, I managed to muster a nervous smile and wave awkwardly at Johanna. She nods slightly at me, regarding me with confused eyes.

"Annie…?" She trails, the question directed at me.

"Cresta." I murmur, running my hand up the straps of my bag. I shift from foot to foot and Finnick's arm stays limp across my shoulders so I'm trapped in the awkward half-embrace.

"Oh," she blinks, and then thankfully turns back to Finnick, "What's up?"

"Nothing really. I've been showing Annie around town these past few days. She just moved here…well, you know," he shrugs and I dwell on that last bit. She knows who I am? Finnick told the crew about me?

I was always under the presumption that I was a secret of his, though I don't know why. It might be because my dad had thought I had stopped writing to him when I was ten, so naturally I had assumed the same was with him.

"Hmm," she humms, and looks around, "Hey, looks like the bonfire is starting."

We turn, Finnick's arm dropping from me in the process to watch Gale squat in front of the drift wood and set it alight with a match he pulls from his back pocket. Everyone cheers when the tiny pillar of smoke starts to rise from the mountain of debris. The smoke eventually morphs into a full-blown fire with the help of Gale's fiddling. He steps back to watch the flames lick the air with a smug expression, and a girl that could be his twin mumbles something to him, to which he responds with a booming laugh and a halfhearted shove. The girl huffs, a smirk on her lips as she flicks her braid off her shoulder and shoves back with enough force to send him stumbling over his feet.

Before I can realize it, Finnick grabs my hand and gently tugs me to the fire. Johanna is already there, laughing about something with the girl with the braided hair. She's intimidating, the braid girl, with her smoky gaze and defensive demeanor.

Finnick and I stand beside them, and the braided girl nods at Finnick.

"Katniss!" He exclaims, reaching out to her. "I see you're keeping Gale in line tonight."

"Someone has to keep the booze out of his hands." She rolls her eyes, "And I don't feel like carting his drunken ass back into the Seam."

"You've done it before!" Gale shouts, more enthusiastic now that the bonfire is lit, "I have faith in you to do it again!"

She doesn't comment and that's when I realize it's because she's staring at me. Her eyes swoop over my form, obviously checking me out. Except it doesn't feel like checking me out; more like sizing me up. I resist shivering and shift closer to Finnick, accidentally bumping into his arm.

"This is Annie," he gestures to me, as if suddenly remembering I was there. "Annie, Katniss. Katniss, Annie."

"Hi," I squeak, and she watches me curiously for a moment, before smiling shyly.

"Hello."

"Fin!" A voice booms, and a broad boy with curly, blond hair appears behind Katniss, his hands gently on her waist. He pulls her over to make room to squeeze through and she smacks his hands away. "I was wondering when you'd show up!"

"Peeta, dude!" Finnick offers Peeta a hand and he takes it, pulling him into one of those hug-and-smack-back bro hugs.

Unlike the others, Peeta glances at me and smiles from ear to ear, offering me a large hand to take, "Hey!"

I take it hesitantly, and he engulfs my hand with a bone-crushing shake, beaming at me the whole time. Strangely, his demeanor relaxes me. I feel at ease, smiling right back and whispering my hello.

"That's Annie." Finnick explains for the 100th time tonight, and I nod in agreement.

Yes. I am Annie. That's me. Annie. Uh huh.

Peeta lets go of my hand, and shoves one of his own into the pocket of his shorts, while pointing a finger at me, "Annie from the letters? Pen pal Annie? Am I right?"

"Yep, the very one." Finnick confirms, knocking shoulders with me. I smile shyly.

"Huh…so she _is_ real." Gale says, peering at me in amusement.

"She doesn't talk much." Johanna pipes up, putting the conversation she was having with Katniss on hold. Suddenly everyone's eyes are on me, as if expecting something.

My mouth feels dry and my hands start to sweat. I don't know what to do or what to say as blush creeps up my cheeks.

"She's just…shy," Finnick states, relieving me of the horrible moment. I let go a breath I hadn't known I was holding when everyone turns to him.

"I'll say." Johanna huffs.

After that, the conversation thankfully shifts away from me, and onto other things. It's mostly just inside jokes and conversing with one another. Sometimes Finnick will try to pull me in by explaining things that everyone already knows or nudging me in the elbow when something funny happens, but for the most part I'm excluded. At one point, everyone starts sitting on objects, and he pulls me down onto someone's beach towel. I hope whose ever it is doesn't get upset that we're on it, and Finnick just blows my concern away when I tell him this.

I decide I want to leave when the conversation turns to drinking.

"So…I'm pretty sure my mom found the empty beer cans and bottles I had stashed in the garage." Johanna starts and everyone groans.

"You're supposed to throw them away, stupid." Gale huffs and the girls glare at him.

"It was technically Finnick's job to do so." Peeta points out.

"And I was too drunk to care." Finnick states and I freeze.

I mean…I knew he did that stuff. He's told me he has. It's just weird actually _hearing_ it.

It's at this point that I whisper to him that I need to take a walk. He gives me a look of concern, but I wave him off. "I just need a breather. I'll be right back." I just need to go. My head is buzzing and there are too many people for me to handle right now. I can already feel the shaking in my hands starting.

I'm up and brushing sand off my bottom before he replies. I don't go far, just down the shore until the sounds of teenage laughter and grungy music are nothing more than just a whistle. I sit in the sand when I decide I've gone far enough and scoop my hands in the sand.

I watch the grains trickle through my fingers and the pricking sensation of before-tears hit my eyes.

* * *

I sit there until I manage to calm myself down, which takes a good half hour. I didn't actually cry; but more or less just felt the need to. Finnick didn't come for me, which I try to not let affect me so much, because really I don't want to take him away from his friends. I can already feel it coming to that. I'm trying to make myself as little of a rift as I possibly can.

Our worlds aren't meshing well, not in the way he wants it to. We're fine on our own, but like I suspected the second I try to involve myself into his friendships I just shut down. I had no one back in my old town; no one to talk to or hang out with. My anxiety problem took that chapter of my life away from me. That was sort of the whole point of Finnick - a friend that I would never have to bother with cumbersome issues of regular relationships. He was someone I could talk and vent to, without actually having to do it verbally and face to face. But now, with him practically throwing me into the social scene, I'm trying to adjust to something I have little to no experience with dealing with, and I panicked. They probably all think I hate them now, which is definitely false. I'm more like a dead weight to Finnick.

I feel like a burden, and everything I am is screaming at me to fix it. I just don't know how.

Its practically pitch black when I decide to return to the fire. I rise and make my way back, navigating myself towards the sounds of teenage party and the faint orange glow of the fire. It doesn't take me long to find Finnick, because he's still right where I left him, on the towel. Johanna took the spot I was sitting in, and they were laughing at something on her phone. I stop in front of them, unsure how to get his attention without calling attention to _me_ in the process.

I don't have to worry about it for long, though, because he looks up at the sight of my feet.

He smiles at me, but it's a guilty smile as he rises to his feet and brushes his shorts off. I try to ignore Johanna's glare at being interrupted.

"Hey, I was wondering where you were." He rubs the back of his neck, looking at me with pleading green eyes, "I was about to assemble a search party."

I sort of doubted it, but I smiled shyly anyway, "Yeah."

"So…"

"I thought I'd let you know that I was going home. Its dark and dad must be wondering where I am…" I get quieter as I talk, because Johanna appears behind him, her arm on his shoulder. The glare is gone, replaced with a bored expression.

"Oh." He shrugs, "Sure, yeah. I'll walk you home."

"No, no that's fine you don't have to-"

"Annie, I'm _not_ letting you walk yourself home in the _dark_." He rolls his eyes and smiles.

"Why don't you just get Peeta to give you a ride home?" Johanna pipes up, and by the way she's looking at me, it seems like she's asking me. "He doesn't like staying too late at these things, anyway."

"Johanna, you genius!" Finnick shouts, raising his hands to the sky. "What would I do without you?"

"You'd still be a freshman, that's what." Johanna states and walks away, tossing final words over her shoulder, "I'll hitch a ride with Gale and Katniss," and then turning to face us, "Are we meeting up at your place or…?"

"I'll let you know." He waves her off and she disappears into the bodies.

"Sorry," I blurt as he watches her go and he turns, confused. I don't bother explaining why I'm sorry, because I don't really know why myself.

"Don't apologize." He shrugs, "Come on, let's go find Peeta."

* * *

Peeta's more than happy to give us a lift, and I want to cry at the sound of it. I was kind of dreading the long night-walk home; my feet were killing me and I was exhausted.

We slip into his car, a small red contraption, and both boys insist I take shotgun.

"Ladies get the best seat in my car." Peeta insisted as Finnick practically shoved me inside and shut the door.

It was quiet the entire ride, save for when Peeta would ask where to go next and I'd map out what little direction I knew to get to my house. It was nice because I don't think I could take anymore conversation.

Finnick got out of the car with me when Peeta pulled into my driveway, and walked me to my door, which was nice.

"Sorry about tonight," he apologized, reaching to tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear.

I nod.

"See you later?"

"Yeah, definitely," I smile and he smiles back.

He whispers goodbye and gets back into the car. They wait to make sure I get in, and when I turn around to wave goodbye, both boys wave back. I watch Peeta back out and don't turn around until the car is just a dot in the horizon. Dad's sitting in the living room chair with a book in his hands when I come in. I wonder idly if he left the house at all today.

I look at the clock and it reads 10:30 pm.

"Where have you been?" He asks, but it's not in a demanding parent sort of way that you hear in most movies. He asks in the way someone would ask "what did you have for breakfast?" or "what movie do you want to watch?"

"I was with my friend Finnick. We were at the beach all day." I shrug, "I sort of didn't realize how late it was. I'm sorry."

"Is Finnick the one who called this morning?"

"Yeah."

"Was that his car?"

"No, his friend Peeta gave us both a ride home."

He nods, and returns to his book. I stand there for a few moments, but he seems to have said his piece, so I retreat to my room. I'm almost in the hallway when I hear him say, "Just be careful, Annie."

I don't know how to respond, so I just say, "Yeah."


	6. The Three Rules of Old Tessie

**_Whew, this chapter is a monster! _**

**_With about double the usual words than the other chapters so far, I hope you enjoy it._**

**_In other news, I'm officially on summer break! So updating will be easier (fingers crossed...)_**

**_I'll just let you get to it..._**

**_-Em_**

* * *

**Chapter** **6  
**The Three Rules of Old Tessie**  
**

* * *

_Hey, Annie,  
_

_How are you? Good? Horrible? A mixture of mildly uncomfortable and partially confused?_

_Well I, for one, am sad._

_Now, I've never mentioned this before, but Grandma Mags is allergic to animals. Dogs, cats, rabbits, marsupials…you name it and she'll sneeze uncontrollably at the mere sight of it._

_Naturally, because of this, I don't have any pets._

_Any pets but the one purple Betta fish I've had since age 8, respectfully dubbed with the name "Max". He was an awesome little guy, though all he ever did was swim. Mags would laugh at him sometimes, being a pet fish in a town notorious for spearing and harvesting his very kind._

_Anyway, it is with great sadness in my heart that I say this morning, at 9:17 a.m., Max was found floating upside down at the top of his bowl, little fishy fins up and dead as a doornail._

_We gave him a proper sea burial. _

_Mags insisted I be the one to flush._

_I don't know why I'm writing you about this. As far I remember, I've never really mentioned Max…well…ever._

_I guess I'm kind of sad and I just want to talk to someone about it that isn't anyone who is capable of giving me a sad look and fake sympathy, you know? Even if he was just a fish, he was my fish. _

_Hope your week has been better than mine._

_-Finnick_

* * *

Since school is starting up soon, I decided to spend the day supply shopping. I've been up and wondering through stores since 7 this morning, leaving a scrawled note to dad about where I'll be and not bothering to wait around for a phone call from Finnick. For some reason, the idea of talking to him right now feels embarrassing.

I'm sort of dead on my feet, since I got little to no sleep last night. I just lay awake, replaying yesterdays events over and over again like a broken record. I was hoping that, by doing that, the whole thing would just disappear forever, but unfortunately that is not the case. Even now as I make my way down the broken, cracked sidewalk I can't help but replay the events in excruciating detail; quietly knit-picking what I had done wrong from start to finish.

I've established that the first half of the day was amazing. Being with Finnick at the fair was awesome, and everything I imagined it would be back when I used to think about what it would be like to spend a day with him from the lonely walls of my apartment. He was funny, nice, and a pleasure to be around.

The second half, however, was not as great.

Being with Finnick was like breathing air – a common occurrence that I never had to practice. It was just there; I just did it, with ease and without much thought. But meeting his friends, actually trying to engage the social parts of me that I had managed to pitifully squash and restrain, only to re-discovered wrinkled and frayed, had been a whole other thing.

I didn't know those people, they didn't know me.

And for some reason, a small part of my brain is broken enough to mistake that as a threat.

I manage to reach my destination, a goal that I've acquired from nothing but pure memory to guide me. Padding carefully through the half-empty parking lot of the office supply store, I'm on the look out manic cars that I've found like to speed through heavily-populated areas. A block of crisp, cool air that's the result of a vent above the doorway greats me when the automatic doors slide out of my way. It reminds me of the sticky note dad and I have tacked on the fridge, counting down the days until we'll be able to pick up our own AC unit and stop festering in a puddle of our own sweat.

I avoid making eye contact with anyone close to the entryway, instead focusing on my feet as I mechanically grab a small basket and make my way to the back of the store, a habit I've picked up from years of going about errands on my own. I've discovered that working my way from back to front minimizes my chances of running into questioning store employees.

Slipping my list from my pocket, I walk and read, picking up what I need as I go. I have no idea what these teachers will expect, so I grab about five different notebooks, an assortment of pencils and pens and highlighters, and anything else I can think of. I turn each corner of every isle carefully, keeping an eye out for any person that could be standing there. It's humiliating, the lengths I go to avoid human contact, but I've been this way for as long as I can remember.

I live on the policy, "you leave them alone, they'll leave you alone."

When my hand is heavy with the weight of loose-leaf paper and colorful folders, I decide that I cannot prolong the inevitability of facing the cashier. I place myself almost dejectedly behind a woman with a little boy who has a giant poster board in his hands and an old man holding printer ink. The affair of the cashier checking my items and me handing her money wasn't as bad as it could have been, and I'm out the door and sweating profusely in my socks and sneakers once again.

On my way home, I pass by the trinket shop that Finnick had brought me in on the day we had met in person. I pass by slowly, watching myself through the reflection in the window. Without even thinking about it, my hand presses against the door and gently pushes it open, the bell ringing upon my arrival. As if pulled there, I make my way to the back with the bubbling fountains and the Betta fish, and smile when I see it.

The green, black-tipped Betta is still there, swimming lazily in his cup. He stops when I get close to his cup, and does the same thing he did the first time, watching me for a little before continuing his merry circles.

I realize want him.

I never had a pet growing up – the apartment and dad's fur allergy both crushed that dream. I _did_, however, have a pet rock; a pathetic, crudely painted thing with googley eyes glued messily to the top of it. It was a good idea in theory, but in practice I had completely degraded the thing from imagined animal friend to object that picks up dust on the back of my shelf.

Beside the cups of fish, are glass tanks to hold them in and colorful rocks. I grab a small net, the cheapest tank, some water conditioner, and some fish food and make my way to the front. A kindly looking old lady sits there, smiling at me fondly as I put the objects on the counter. She seems to be in her early 80s, with a long sheet of white hair. Her shaking hands ring up the items for me and I awkwardly walk back to the Betta fish to pick up the cup. I try not to jostle him (a sticker on the lid of the cup stating that he is, in fact, a male) too much as I set him on the counter.

The old woman mumbles something to me and I look at her, trying to decode what she said as politely as I can. She repeats it, but I still can't understand.

I shrug, smiling apologetically, "Pardon?"

She tries again, slower and a bit louder, and I manage to piece it together. It's something along the lines of, "take good care of him,"

"I will. It'll be nice to have some company." I hand her the money and collect my things. I stuff the tank and fish food in my bag, thankful that I decided to bring my drawstring bag, and hold the cup with the fish gingerly in my hands. "Thank you," I murmur as I make my way out the door and she mumbles a reply.

I walk slowly home, trying to keep the shifting of the water in the cup to a minimum, but the fish doesn't seem to care, just continues his circling.

* * *

When I get home, the door is locked and dad's car isn't in the driveway. Inside, I see he has scrawled a note beside mine on the table, stating that he's off to check out the boat-repair place that he's supposed to start working at next week. He's both going to learn the mechanics as well as sell parts.

He also mentioned that Finnick called and he left me his number to call back, but I decide to tackle that problem later.

I place my supplies on the table and get to work on filling the fish's tank. When I've put an adequate amount of water inside, along with the two drops of the conditioner as stated on the bottle, I pick up the cup. Peeling the lid off carefully, I slowly pour him into the tank. He lands with a gentle _plop_ and swims sporadically around and around. A few moments later, he's slowed back into the lazy circles. I drop a few food pellets into the tank, and he attacks them, before continuing his lazy laps.

I smile.

I watch him for a bit, thinking about what I should name him.

I decide on Charlie, because he looks like a Charlie.

"You like Charlie?" I ask quietly and he slows to watch to me. I take it as a yes.

I watch Charlie for a bit, and eventually decide I can't leave Finnick hanging much longer. My fingers ghost over the buttons on the phone, pressing them until the dial tone kicks up. I pull until the chord stops and sink into one of the kitchen chairs, my eyes on Charlie.

"'llo?" A firm voice picks up, laden with sleep. For a moment, I think I dialed the wrong number, until he speaks again, "Yeah? Hello?"

"Finnick?" I whisper into the receiver.

"Speaking. Who's this?"

"Annie."

"Annie!" I can hear the excitement in his voice. "Hey!"

"Hi. Did I wake you up?" I glance at the clock and it reads 12:00 p.m.

"Yeah, but don't worry about it. Grandma Mags says I sleep too much anyway." As if to back that theory up, a prominent yawn overtakes the line, turning the sound in her ear into nothing but static crackling.

"Oh."

"Yep." I can hear the smile in his voice, "So, I see you're home."

"Uh-huh." I twirl the chord around my finger and Charlie slows in his loops, almost as if he's eavesdropping on the conversation.

"I was wondering if you wanted to do something with me today."

"Sure," I say automatically, and clench my eyes shut because of it. Am I that under his finger?

"Woah, Miss Cresta, lets not be too accepting. For all you know, you could have just said yes to _anything_ right there." His tone is teasing but my stomach clenches at the sound and I'm suddenly embarrassed of my eagerness, "You could have just agreed to sell your soul to the Dark Lord himself."

"Please drop the dramatics, Mr. Odair." I roll my eyes, "Besides, that's _impossible_, since I've already done so."

"Oh really?"

"But of course! I am actually a 7 foot demon in the form of a very, very awkward teenage girl." I snicker, and muster up the most chalky-evil voice I can, "_They call me Zelgerath_."

"Well, _Zelgerath_, my good sir, I'm going to need Annie for a good portion of the night. We are due to watch movies at a Miss Johanna Mason's house."

"I can try." I squeak in my normal, plain old voice.

"Once again, though, you don't have to if you don't want to," he adds, and his voice sounds concerned, "We can do something else. Watch movies here or go to the beach again...though I must say, I don't know about you, but I still have sand in my unmentionables from the _last_ seven times we've gone to the beach."

I giggle and close my eyes. He doesn't say anything, just breathes into the receiver, and it sounds funny but it actually helps me think better. Clears my mind.

On the one hand, I can go with him. Spend some time with Finnick, something, it seems, that I can't get enough of lately, even though it's only been a few days. I can go with him, and willingly put myself into an uncomfortable environment.

On the other, I can politely decline and sit at home and watch Charlie swim in his bowl for however long it takes until I fall asleep.

"I'll go."

"Are you absolutely sure this time?" He asks, "Because you don't have to say yes. Really. No one's holding your wrist-"

"Finnick." I cut him off and clench my eyes tighter together, "Stop talking."

A puff of static air crumbles through the receiver, signaling that he gave a small laugh.

"Fair enough."

"What did I just say?" I joke, though to be completely honest I do enjoy the sound of him talking. He could be reciting the Declaration of Independence and I'd still be interested in what he has to say. I'm not sure if that's good or bad. "So I'll meet you there?" I offer, though I have no idea where Johanna Mason lives.

"Actually, I figured I'd, uh, pick you up…" he sounds unsure, even a bit shy and I smile.

"Like…with a car?"

"Yeah…well, no…" he pauses, "More like a truck."

I blink, "You have a truck?"

The static comes again as he chuckles, "Yeah, Annie."

"Oh."

"Oh." I can hear the smile I his voice; the cocky quirk of his lips.

"What kind of truck do you have?"

He tells me the make and model and everything else that can possibly answer the question. I pause because everything he just said sounds like alien language to me, and he waits for me on the other side of the line.

"Yeah…I don't know why I asked because I have no idea what any of that means." I bite my lip, "I'm not very car-savvy. I probably should have asked you what_ color_ it was."

He laughs a loud quick laugh that makes me hold the receiver a little further from my ear, "Its blue. Dark blue."

I nod and, because he can't see me, say, "Oh. Sounds nice."

"It _is_ convenient, I will give it that."

"So…I'll see you then?"

"Definitely."

* * *

It was more of an indigo, than a dark blue.

I was also expecting it to be one of those old trucks that backfire every time you turn the engine on, and runs on a motor so loud it wakes up your neighbors, but it was actually very quiet as it idled in my driveway. I opened up the passenger door to find him watching me, drumming quietly on the skinny steering wheel, mouthing quietly to the words playing on the radio. It was an old rock song; I recognize it from one of my dad's CDs. The seats were creaky, beige leather that squeaked as my bare thighs rubbed up against them. I knew that it would stick to the back of my legs and I'd have to peel them off by the time I got out.

It was one of those cabs where the seats were connected as one long bench. There were seats available behind the passenger and driver portion, and since there was no door to access them, I assumed you had to push one of the front seats over to get to them.

Finnick beams at me as I fumble with the safety belt, only finally clicking it in place after a few tries. I didn't realize before how much my hands were shaking. I try to clench them into fists to try to control it, the moons of my nails nipping into the soft skin of my palm with gentle pressure.

Finnick makes a point to rub the dashboard with an affectionate air, "This, is old Tessie."

Old is right, by the looks of it. The stereo was one of those old-fashioned-beige-two-knob types of stereos, with a slot that could only accept cassette tapes. Upon asking him about it, he promptly reached behind my seat to pull a whole bag full of cassette tapes, from different genres to artists. Either he was prepared for different people with different tastes or he was one of those people who could listen to anything and think it was beautiful.

"Now, there are rules when it comes to riding old Tess," Finnick begins, with the air of a teacher assigning class rules to naughty preschoolers, "Rule number one: Tess loves keeping her passengers safe. One must always be buckled in at all times." He reaches down to snap my seat belt strap against my shoulder, the vinyl scratching my shoulder, "Congrats, Cresta, you passed rule one."

I smile and he continues, "Rule number two: chill. Stick your feet on the dashboard. Pretend your hand is a dolphin and surf it out the window. Making honking gestures at truckers. Take your shoes off. Make _obscene_ gestures at truckers. I don't care. Just relax." He winks, "Only good times are allowed in old Tessie."

"What happens if you break rule two?"

"Well, we get rule three," he puts the car into drive, releasing his foot off the brake to roll out of my driveway, "We drive until rule two is achieved."

* * *

Johanna Mason's house is squat, but bigger than my house. It's more isolated with a giant yard and a long, rocky driveway pulling it out of the way and adding more privacy. It almost gives the appearance of a farm house; an odd visual since its right in the middle of a fishing town. The front of the house by the door is decorated with plants of various shapes and sizes, ranging from small trees to shrubbery to flowers, petals open and baking under the afternoon sun. Windows are tossed almost haphazardly along the wall, from a giant pitcher window to about four or five different shaped and sized windows beside it.

Finnick parks the truck behind what I recognize as Peeta's car, as well as a pick-up truck, a chipped black number and much more rust-laden than Finnick's. He lets the truck idle for a moment before turning to me with an expression that could only be compared to the look a soldier would get before heading to war, which is odd because I'm technically the only one here who should be feeling like they're about to enter a war zone.

"If you want to ditch at any time, just let me know." He pulls the key out of the ignition as he continues to talk, "If you get too overwhelmed, you know? I mean, we're just watching a movie but still…"

I'm tight lipped and nodding at his words, but they prickle a little under my skin. I mean, its sweet that he cares about my comfort, but yet…it feels…smothering? No, that's not right. It feels almost mocking…

We jump out of the car. Well, it's more like I stumble awkwardly out of the truck before Finnick can get around to the passenger side to help me. When we get to the door, he doesn't even bother to knock, just enters and I stand in the threshold, momentarily stunned. He didn't pause to wait for me since he was unaware that I had stopped, so I stumbled in after him, not wanting to get left behind.

I followed him through the house, not sure where he was leading me. When he got to a door in the living room, he swung it open carelessly to reveal a set of old wooden stairs. They creaked as we descended down them. There were no rails, just tight white walls to skim my fingers over and hug as the stars hit a landing and curve slightly to the left. When we get to the bottom, the air is musty and cool with a compact carpet that crinkles beneath our feet.

We enter in what appears to be a small family room; with a long brown couch and a few plush chairs spread before a large television. Just before the landing there is a small foosball table. Looking closely I see that some of the tiny players either have chipped paint or snapped off limbs, but it still seems playable. To the right of the television, a little ways down is the beginning of what looks like a ping pong table, the white ball hitting the table with sharp _clunks_ as two figures play a match. The back of one of the players appears to be Peeta, his opponent Katniss.

"Finnick! It's about time you showed up, dude!"

"We were going to start the vote without you."

"Thank God you're here, or else we would have wound up watching _The Notebook_."

"Who's that behind you?" I jump at the voice, and I know immediately who it belongs to. Johanna's cropped head peeks up over the back of the couch, her expression un-amused.

"Oh! It's Annie." Peeta swivels to smile at me and I smile shyly back. Katniss hits the ping pong ball at him, and it whacks lightly off his arm.

She smirks, her expression bored, "One point for me."

"Brought her along to watch a movie," Finnick smirks at me, gesturing for me to sit next to him on the couch. He flops ungracefully down onto the plush leather, and I scoot against the arm of the couch.

Johanna is on the far side, and she smacks at his leg as he attempts to rest it over her lap with his back propped against my arm. He chuckles and adjusts so he's sandwiched perfectly between us, his limbs touching the both of us in a splayed fashion. His arm from the top of his shoulder to the curve is his elbow is flush with mine and I try to focus on something else besides the buzzing feeling of his skin on mine.

He mutters something to Johanna and she snickers, slapping him on the arm before reaching down to grab a bowl of popcorn. He sticks his fingers in and shovels some into his mouth, offering the bowl to me with a lumpy smile.

"No thanks," I murmur quietly and smile at his goofy expression as he makes a big deal of swallowing the mouthful of popcorn.

"Well…I should go fetch more snacks, since you're here and therefore able to down more sugary contents than this entire room multiplied." Johanna sighs and heaves herself off the couch. She heads for the stairs and Katniss follows up after her almost silently, complaining that Peeta was letting her win and the game was starting to get boring because of it.

"So, let's look at the selection…" Finnick exclaims, leaning forward to reach for a stack of DVDs on the coffee table. He sits back and his arm drapes over the couch, behind my head. He spreads the cases over the expanse of our laps, pointing out titles he liked and making gross noises at the ones he didn't.

"I was thinking something scary." Gale pipes up and I almost jump at his voice. Up until that point I was unaware he was even there; sitting so quietly in one of the loveseats next to the couch, "Nothing like a good thriller, right?"

"I couldn't agree with you more, Hawthorne." Finnick says, but beams at me as he does it, before plucking the non-horror oriented DVDs out of the selection.

"I heard this one was good." I mutter, pointing out one that was teetering on the edge of Finnick's right kneecap.

"_The_ _Cabin in the Woods_?" Finnick reads the title and Gale grunts in agreement.

"Catnip and I saw that when it came out." He nods, staring at his can as if lost in thought. "It was weird...but pretty good."

Finnick nudges me with his shoulder. "Wow, you managed to get Gale Hawthorne, world renown picky-movie-chooser Gale _freaking_ Hawthorne, to agree on a title in _one_ try." He jokes, "You're like a God now or something."

"She deserves the Nobel Peace Prize," Peeta agrees, sinking on the floor in front of the TV, his arm raised in Finnick's direction, "I'll set it up."

Finnick tosses him the case and Peeta fiddles with the entertainment system. I poke Finnick hesitantly in the arm and he bends closer to me to hear me ask him where the bathroom was.

"Up the stairs and to the right. It's kind of out of the way, but I think you'll find it." He includes a few more instructions and I listen carefully.

I nod and make my way up the stairs. In order to get to the bathroom I have to cut through a few rooms, and I end up just outside the kitchen when I stumble upon half of a conversation.

"-always bringing girls like this to these kinds of things," Johanna says, "It's kind of annoying."

"I guess I agree." It's Katniss' rough voice who answers, "…but I think she's different. More than just one of his 'girlfriends'." I peak around the corner in time to see her shrug, perched up on the counter while Johanna sprinkles cheese on a plate of nachos, "You heard them down there. Peeta _never_ remembers Finnick's girl's names. But he said 'hi' to her as if she were an old friend."

I go cold from my head to my toes as I realize they're talking about me.

"I suppose so…" Johanna mumbles, and I strain to catch it, "I just…I don't know. It's weird. This whole thing is weird. He's only met the girl _once_ and already he's acting…well…"

"Like he acts with you?" Katniss inquires quietly, reaching to shove a few chips into her mouth.

Johanna brushes the comment off as if she didn't hear it, "I just don't want to see him hurt, is all."

"Finnick Odair knows how to deal with girls, Jo," Katniss assures, reaching for more chips, "It's what he does _best_."

I decide to turn and walk away at that, not wanting to hear much more, only to walk smack into a chest. Lean arms catch me before I tumble back and straighten me. The hands linger on my biceps and I peak up to see Peeta looking at me anxiously.

"I got lost." I squeak after a moment, "Going to the bathroom…"

His gaze flickers to the chatting girls in the kitchen. They haven't seemed to notice our run-in, still absorbed in the conversation of Finnick Odair's love affairs.

His eyes meet mine, and he smiles kindly at me, "Down that hall, first door on the right." He points out the direction.

I mumble my thanks and head that way, shutting the door behind me as quietly as I can.

* * *

I just sort of sit on the lid of the toilet and kind of think over what just happened; assess the situation.

One…my hands were shaking and I was kind of sweaty, both being a solid problem that needed fixing before I left.

Two…I felt weird. Like unwanted weird. I had no idea how to fix this problem.

Three…basically everything I've speculated about finnick has, unfortunately been true.

The term "Finnick's girls" floats around my mind like piece of trash in a pool, waving back and forth, just out of reach to pluck it out. From what they were talking about, it appears that Finnick has a habit of bringing girls to things like this. Along with that, it seems like they never last.

I wondered if I was just another one of Finnick's "girls".

Also, my theory on Johanna is in fact correct. That she will protect him with a fierce eye. I wonder if she acts this way with all of his "girls". If so, I wonder why.

_Because she's jealous, stupid._

I don't let that thought hold too long; shove it aside before it can take form and move on to the next thought, which is if she hates me or not. I can't tell.

I don't see hostility - or even _anything_ negative - when she looks at me. It's more or less just boredom. It's almost like she's placing her superiority over me with mild expressions and sharp comments. She's putting me in my "place": an area of "no, you don't belong" and "you probably never will".

Well, message received, thank you. I've been well aware of the fact even before I met her.

With that, I manage to find enough composure to slip out of the bathroom and back to the doorway that leads into the basement room. Slipping past the kitchen, at first, is a relief when I notice no one is there, but then dread fills me as I realize they've all cultivated downstairs now. So in a way, I'm dragging myself into the dog pit.

I try to make as least noise as I can physically manage going down the worn steps and entering the cool room. It's then that I notice how large the room actually is. It's basically a large space that's carved out of the entire bottom of the house, with perfect length and width to match the upstairs, without the pesky walls and doors used to divide up the rooms.

Everyone had packed together in front of the T.V. by now, marking their spots with chairs and pillows. Finnick hadn't moved since I left him. I'm touched to see he kept my spot clear beside him. Johanna's stretched like a cat on her section of the couch, with her neck resting on the arm of the chair and her legs draped lazily over him like a tablecloth.

I shimmy myself through the space between couch and loveseat and curl myself on the couch, not meeting anyone's eyes. I try to make myself a ball by tucking my legs up to my chest and keeping an invisible boundary between Finnick and I. But, as if he were a magnet, his impulse seems to be to touch everything and everyone near him. His arm rests behind my head as he rests it on the back of the couch, and I feel his body slide as close to me as he can without jostling Johanna.

I sink into the cushions, feeling guilty for no particular reason.

"Alright, bitches, listen up!" Finnick booms.

"Don't say 'bitches', that's derogatory, you ass-hat." Johanna uses her position to the best of abilities by kicking him in the thigh.

"Alright, fart lords, listen up!" Finnick corrects and everyone sniggers. He peers at Johanna, "Better?"

"You may proceed." She allows, smirking triumphantly.

"The film we're watching was recommended by the one and only, Annie Cresta," he pauses for affect, but no one reacts. I try to sink between the cracks between the cushions, "You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll call out in agony…but most importantly, my friends, you will watch. You will watch, thinking, 'dang, that Cresta girl knows her movies'." He brings a hand to his heart, his fingers clutching his shirt dramatically, "To which I say, I agree…and furthermore-"

"You can shut up now, Finnick," Peeta interrupts, straightening from the front of the T.V. "I got the DVD player working."

The opening menu for the film pops up and someone – whoever was holding the remote – hits play.

And so the first movie night of many begins.

Ironically enough, the movie was pretty good. It had its moments, good and bad. The characters were typical. It kept you on your toes.

There was a particular scene where I felt the blush tickle my cheeks as two characters got wrapped up in a rather…intimate moment. All I could think about was how Finnick was sitting so close and no one was saying anything but we could all see what was happening and hear the noises. I fidgeted with my hands and shifted my legs and refused to look at Finnick.

At one point Gale wolf whistled and that ease some of the tension.

Among other things that Gale did was gasp or suck in breath before a big reveal or action-y scene happened. Since he'd seen it before, he already knew what would happen, and it was kind of distracting.

When the credits began to roll it was like statues had come to life as everyone rose to stretch stiff muscles and discuss their thoughts on the movie.

"She was _horrible_…"

"He shouldn't have done that!"

"What a crackpot that guy was…"

"That one scene though? _Freaking sweet_."

At one point during their chatter Finnick leaned over to whisper in my ear, his warm breath tickling my skin, "You know, they don't normally discuss like this unless they enjoyed the movie." I look at him in surprise and he winks, "Good choice tonight."

* * *

We sit in my driveway. He turned off the engine a few minutes ago, after realizing I was making no move to actually get out. I was content on sitting in that truck for as long as I could. I don't know why, though.

"Thanks for coming," he murmured, and I looked over at him. The sensor light on my front porch lit up when he pulled in, and was still on and illuminating the dark cab. His cheekbones were outlined by the yellow glow, "I knew it'd be fun with you, and it was."

"It was pretty fun…" I admit quietly, and I feel fuzzy as I come to the realization that I meant it.

It's quiet again and I stare at my house. Dad's inside probably watching T.V. or watching the truck sit in the driveway, wondering what his daughter is doing that could take this long to get inside.

"Hey, Annie?" Finnick interrupts my pondering and I look at him, "I kind of want to…well…I just want to apologize for yesterday. I knew you were uncomfortable and I was an ass for flinging the bonfire on you like that."

His lips are tight, a solid line and I blink at him.

"You don't have to apologize for that…"

"Yes, I do."

I shake my head, "No. If anything _I_ should be apologizing."

"You?" He scoffs, his eyebrows scrunching together, "For what?"

"Reacting like that…walking away…shutting off?" I shake my head again, "I don't know! Being like this?" I push my hair out of my face, a nervous tick of mine. My palms are sweaty and they stick to my hair, "I _know_ I'm no fun and I _know_ I'm not good at meeting people and…I just…your friends must think I'm crazy! And I don't know, I probably am!"

"My friends don't think you're crazy," he assures but it sounds like plastic to me, "Definitely not." He sighs, "And you're _not_ crazy, Annie."

"Okay," I whisper and he just stares at me.

"_Okay?_"

"Okay."

"Okay what?" He focuses on me as if I'm a math test he didn't study for. And in a way, I guess I am. An illusion he thought he could handle but actually can't. "Okay you're not crazy or okay you agree?"

"Okay, I'm not crazy." I state slowly, hoping that I can force myself to agree with the statement. I feel nothing though, "If I'm not crazy then I'm…broken."

He sucks in a breath as if I just told him his family died. "You're _not_ broken, Annie."

_I'm not this and I'm not that…_

I'm dizzy.

I fumble for a way to explain; to release what I've chanted to myself for years and years. That I am broken. That I can't function like a normal person. That I am alone for it. That my dad looks at me like I'm a puzzle he can't figure out. That there must be something wrong with me because of the way I handle the world. This constant state of nervousness and fear that makes me feel like I'm constantly standing at the edge of a cliff and just one small gust of wind is going to knock me over and I'm going to tumble down, down, down…

I don't think I'm ready to say these things out loud.

Not even to Finnick.

"My friends like you, you know." He mutters. He waits for me to say something but I'm still tumbling around in my head that words feel like dead weight I cannot release. Talking feels like it would hurt. I physically cannot open my mouth right now. I hope he understands. He continues, "After Peeta dropped you off and drove me home, he told me something. He said, 'Annie seems nice,' and then he looked me in the eye and said, 'Don't hurt her, Finnick. I like her.'"

_Peeta._

Peeta with kind eyes and soft smiles and always kindness. The only one of his friends to look me in the eye and say "hello". To treat me like something that's worth being talked to and not one of the toys that could be tossed away.

My heart tingles and my throat is dry as I say, "He said that?"

Finnick nods, "Yeah. He said he could tell you're a good friend."

I nod as if I understand but I don't know how he could think that.

"You told them about me." I say quietly.

"I did." He admits, "They've known about you for years, Annie. We threw a party when I told them you were moving here. They were really excited for me...for us."

"It doesn't feel like it," I think of the alien stares and the cold gestures.

"Some of them are…territorial." He shrugs and Johanna's face pops up immediately, "They'll warm up, you'll see."

He watches me and I don't know what he's looking for in my expression. Surprise? Relief? Distress?

I don't even know what I should be feeling.

Hope, maybe. Faith that what he says will be true; that I will be able to join his circle of friends. They'll accept me and I them. I picture myself gossiping with Johanna and Katniss. Playing ping pong with Peeta. Lighting fires with Gale. Laughing with Finnick.

"Can we hang out again tomorrow?" I ask, my hand on the door handle.

"I thought you'd never ask." I can hear a small undertone of relief in his voice, though I'm positive it's just my imagination. I look over at him to study his face.

He smirks at me and then the porch light flickers off and his face is lost in the black.

* * *

**_I thought it'd be funny that they watch The Cabin in The Woods because Chris Hemsworth is in it (ironically the character in the sex scene that Gale wolf whistles at) who is Liam Hemsworth's (the guy who plays Gale) brother...idk I thought it was silly._**


	7. Just Another Statistic

**Hello everyone!  
**

**I'm sorry this chapter is really, really late.**

**The next one will probably be, as well.**

**Upon reading through my past chapters, I've realized that I don't like how they came out too much. They seem rushed to me and I realized I've been focusing on just posting the chapters rather than making sure they were as good as I can get them to be. Because of this, the story isn't coming along at all how I want it to. So, from now on, I'm going to take more care in making the chapters better and less choppy. **

**This, along with my horrendous writers block comes with slow updates, so I'm sorry.**

**But as a bonus, this chapter is the biggest one yet, so...there's that. **

**As always, thanks for the support, and I hope you understand!**

**-_Em_**

* * *

**Chapter 7  
**_Just Another Statistic  
_

* * *

_Dear Finnick,_

_It's weird writing this because I don't know what I'll do with it. _

_Would it be weird to continue sending each other letters? Obviously, everything I write can be said to you in person now, so is this form of communication dying out between us? I haven't gotten a letter from you at all, so I can only assume it has._

_So I guess, once again, I'm writing this with the intention of not sending it._

_Finnick, I don't know what to think of your friends. You tell me they'll eventually warm up to me, but it's been a week already. There have been some chips in the ice but overall it's been the same; they treat me like I'm temporary. Like I'm one of the girls they talk about – the ones you bring once and never bring again._

_I can't tell if Johanna likes me or not, and for some reason she's the one I really want to impress. _

_One day she'll offer me chips or lean over to whisper gossip into my ear and then the next she'll give me looks that I can't decode._

_Katniss and Gale scare me a little. They're intimidating. I probably just scare easy, though._

_I probably shouldn't be writing all of this down without having the intention of telling you about it in person. It feels like keeping secrets. But I'm sure you have stuff you're not telling me either. It's kind of sad to think that we aren't telling each other everything anymore. That our connection is fading…_

_I don't know where I'm going with this because you're picking me up in five minutes and I have too many thoughts that I can't catch and write down with the amount of time I have left._

_I'm going to stop writing now because my hand hurts and I still need to put on a bra._

_Yours,  
Annie_

* * *

I fold the paper gingerly between my fingers and slip it into the box. After latching it shut and securing it in my top drawer, I slip off my sleep shirt and change into more appropriate attire. We're supposed to be going swimming today so I wear my swimsuit under my tank top and shorts. I'm careful to lather on sunscreen, making sure I get everywhere. I'm still nursing sunburn on my thighs and the tops of my shoulders from earlier this week, the result of poor sun care on my part. Finnick wasted no time picking on me for it.

"_Hey, got some color I see."_

"_The shower hurt so bad this morning I almost just gave up on being clean."_

"_Lobsters don't take showers anyway."_

The viciousness of the red has faded, though, so now it's just warm and stings if you touch it too much. But I learned my lesson. I'm just hoping it'll fade to tan...

I stop by Charlie's bowl on my way out. I relocated him from the kitchen table to my dresser a few days ago, and he seemed to be taking the change in stride. His circles never cease and sometimes I wonder if he ever gets dizzy or if he's just training to be in some sort of fish track and field competition.

Dad didn't seem to mind – or even comment, really – on Charlie's sudden appearance.

The conversation went something like this:

"_Is that a fish?"_

"_It's a…yeah. It's a Beta fish."_

"_When did you get it?"_

"_I got him yesterday. His name is Charlie."_

"_Oh."_

"_Yeah…"_

"_Well…just take good care of him. I don't want to have to take over scrubbing his bowl and stuff because you're neglecting him."_

"_Charlie's in good hands, dad. I promise."_

"In the best hands," I whisper, sprinkling his daily ration of fish food in his bowl. It floats on the top until he pecks at each small pellet. How easy it must be, being a fish. Just swimming around and around until food magically falls from the sky.

I sit on my porch steps and wait for Finnick's truck, the experience like a pang of déjà vu. Since arriving in the town, I've been busier than ever, my schedule reserved with nothing but outings that Finnick has concocted. I've never had so many plans in my life. My summers and weekends – for but almost all of my life – have been nothing more than sitting home, reading…walking…hitting my head against the wall.

But now, I've got places to be and people to be with and it's all very exhausting at times. It feels like I've gained a sense of purpose; that everything I've always dreamed of was happening. I have a stable, real thing that most teenagers have. The one thing in my life that I've always missed out on because of my nervousness is finally in my grasp. I have _friends_.

Even if the only true friend for now in this equation is Finnick.

His truck rolls in my driveway and I don't hesitate in swinging open the passenger door. I slip into the seat, the leather making sticky, grabby hands at my bare short-clad thighs, effectively making the crude sound of a rubber duck. Finnick doesn't notice, his fingers thrumming hard on the steering wheel to the beat of an up-beat punk sounding song, going hard with the rhythm. I can just barely picture the scene taking place inside of his mind; of him pounding away at a shiny, chrome set of drums to the roar of an adoring fan-base.

He nods at me, and smirking, continues his drumming as I fumble with the seat belt. There seems to be some unspoken rule of getting in strange vehicles and having to struggle to understand the mechanics of working with seat belts. I get it near perfect now, however, since I can count beyond the fingers on my hands that I've been inside this truck.

Tessie rumbles with bloodthirsty vengeance as Finnick guns it out of my driveway. I can already feel the stares of beady eyed housewives, peaking through the slits of their heavy venetian blinds, thinking _oh man, that Cresta girl! _I then begin to picture their tired husbands, slouched on their designated chair, pot bellies in the air, sighing as they utter a tired, _"Get away from the window, dear."_

I realize my mind is wandering and I shake it off.

"So, what body of water are we choosing to soak in this time?" I ask as he reaches over to turn the radio down when the song ends. He turns the knob enough to look like he was trying to soften the blow of the sound, but really only drops it by two numbers.

"If you really think about it, swimming is so _weird_." He ignores my question, or rather skirts around it in favor of answering it after a lengthy introduction to his thoughts. I've noticed he has a knack for doing that – captivating your attention enough to make sure you understand exactly where he stands, before handing over the real opinion what you want from him, "No, scratch that. _Water_ is weird. It's all weird." He shakes his head as if that's the end of it.

"Uh…care to elaborate?"

"Not really," he smirks at me and I roll my eyes, though my heart pounds in my chest. _Easy tiger_, I grumble, "Anyway, there's this lake hidden in the woods behind Katniss' house. That's where we're going."

"A lake?" I purse my lips, "That's so unfair. You have _two_ bodies of water so close to you and would used to have to drive and hour and a half to get to a crowded indoor pool." The gross kind of indoor pool, too, with water as warm as bath water and the oppressive, chemical pumped fumes that come with it. The type of indoor pool you wouldn't dare not wear shoes in, for fear of some kind of gross toe fungus growth.

"It's not like we can just get to the lake." He shakes his head again, "Its, like, three miles from her house, and only she knows how to get there. Its kind of private…she only lets us swim there a few times a year."

"Really?" I think of Katniss' cool gray eyes and it doesn't strike me as odd that she's not prone to share.

"Yeah. I asked Gale about it. Apparently, only her and her dad used to swim there when she was little. He showed her it to begin with." He shrugs, which looks funny with the way his hands are positioned on the steering wheel, "He died a while ago, though. She only started to invite us use the lake two years ago. And only the three of us, at that."

I suddenly feel guilty for thinking what I did about her. Of course she wouldn't share the lake as much…its sacred ground to her. Ground only to be used by those who she believes can respect it…like her friends. A closed up feeling attacks my throat at the realization of this and I grip the hem of my shorts tightly.

"Finnick…do they know I'm coming?" I ask, my voice tiny as I fight the workings of panic welling up my throat. He doesn't answer, but his fingers grip the wheel a little bit more tightly and his jaw sets slightly. "_Finnick!_" I moan.

"So what if they don't?" His tone is clipped; defensive. "It's not like they don't know who you are. _I_ trust you. That should be enough, right?" Its rhetoric but he sounds like he's trying to convince himself.

"Finnick, they already don't like me enough," I start, my fingers going to town on the stringy fabric of my shorts, "It's one thing to bring me along to all your outings, but it's a complete other thing to have me go to some close-circle swimming hole, uninvited at that-"

"You're not uninvited," he interrupts, as if that's the root of the problem here, "_I_ invited you."

I see Johanna's disgruntled stares, almost telepathically throwing things like _why are you here?_ and _you again?_ at me. I see Gale's watchful gaze, like a guard dog waiting for the signal to attack. I see Peeta's awkward gestures, trying to pull me into conversations I couldn't join between people who wouldn't want me to if I tried. I see Katniss' hostile glare; her quiet discomfort of me imposing on territory not meant for my eyes to see.

Lastly, I see Finnick, trying hopelessly to merge his two worlds in perfect harmony, only to have the strings break again and remind him that I can't be the everything he envisioned.

While this cinematic adventure plays in my head Tessie's wheels his the bumpy inconvenience of dirt road. Gravel grapples with tires and hinges and we jump up and down, the shocks and struts of the truck trying to cushion the feeling of our bones rattling around.

As if out of nowhere, the scene has changed from the regular sight of beach-themed homes to something else completely. It's becoming aware that we've hit the more rural portion of the town, the houses looking as if they're barely hanging on by a thread. The air feels gray and sad, though that's probably just the appearance of the neighborhood mixing the atmosphere. Clothing lines hold warn, blue clothing and pens full of animals from pigs to chickens dot the gritty yards of most of the homes.

"Where are we?"

"We're in the Seam." Finnick shrugs, "Along with fishing, the district also depends heavily on the coal produced here. Almost all of these homes are mining homes."

"Katniss lives here?" I ask, and I try not to sound as incredulous as I feel. I'm trying not to go for the spoiled kid approach, because I'm the farthest person from the splendor of riches. There was a point where Dad and I would live off paycheck to paycheck…but here, in the Seam, I suddenly feel guilty for whatever I do have.

"And Gale, too," Finnick states, his voice a bit tense and I make a note to stop talking.

He pulls up to a house, the gravely grit of the driveway adding nothing but bumps. It's as if someone just threw rocks into a path on the ground. I suddenly feel guilty as I realize that's probably exactly what happened.

Katniss' house is one of the more compact looking houses in the Seam. It seems sturdy, compared to the near condemned buildings around it. By the looks of the cars parked around it, we're last to arrive. Dread fills me suddenly and I grip my seat belt strap as Finnick pulls the key out of the ignition and pops open his door, seemingly unaware of my mini-attack.

I tell myself to _breathe, breathe, breathe_ and my hands shake like a bookshelf in an earthquake as I un-click my own seat belt. It appears that I'm too slow in getting out of the truck, because Finnick opens the door for me and watches me curiously.

"Annie…?"

"Coming, coming!" I chant breathless, and I feel rushed even though he's waiting quietly and calmly for me. I jump clumsily out of the cab, my backpack clutched tight in my grasp as if it were a life preserver and I were about to drown. _Shit, shit, shit. Not now, not here…please._ I must seem wobbly, because he grabs my elbow and stops me, leveling up with me in a way that I can smell him – the scent of sea salt and musty soap and sweat.

"Annie?" He forces his green eyes on me and I don't know if it adds to my panic or harvests a completely different, separate situation on its own, all I know is my heart is pounding so hard its like its trying to reach up at him and my head feels like its spinning and pounding simultaneously, "Hey, hey, it's going to be fine. They're not going to care, okay? You'll be fine. We can leave if you want...oh man, Annie breathe. Hey?"

As if on cue I remember to take in a gust of air and the spinning in my head slows. It doesn't completely stop, but it's like someone takes a lever and sets it back a notch. I take more air in. The cycle repeats. Every instinct in my being screams at me to _run, run, run,_ but Finnick's got my elbow in an intimate grip and I don't think I could go far anyway if I tried to flee. So I breathe some more.

"Annie?"

Annie. Annie. Annie.

That's me.

_Hmm…_

It takes a moment and a thousand more breaths, but I finally get the dizziness under control. Somehow, at some point, I've ended up in a squatting-sitting position against the back of Tessie. The need to flee is there, but not as urgent as before. It's more like a nightlight, me being a dark hallway. The pounding of my heart is relentless, though, but I think that's just because Finnick is practically crouched over me. His face is the look of horror, as if he just witnessed a cat getting run over or a child just threw up on his new sneakers.

"I'm fine, I'm okay," I whisper, but he doesn't look convinced.

"Shit, Annie!" He so eloquently puts, "Oh my God, you scared the shit out of me!"

I shrivel into myself. "Ah…"

"Was that an," his voice drops, as if he were sharing a secret, "_an_ _attack_?" His eyes bug out at the prospect and my cheeks stain pink as I come to the realization that he just witnessed me having a panic attack. Double shit.

"Um…can you help me stand?" I avert his question and he jumps up, reaching to help me stand as if I were a withered old woman getting to her feet. I begin to shuffle to the house and he matches my pace.

"Are you sure you can..?"

"I'm fine, Finnick. I just…" I click my tongue, trying to find how to put it, "Had a bit of a…distraction. I'm okay. We can go inside now."

He stares at me like I just grew two heads and I sigh, "Really, Finn, I'm okay. I promise. It's passed now."

"Hey," he grabs my shoulder, forcing me to stop, "Annie, if you're nervous about going, I mean it we can leave. Right now, if you want. I don't want you to be uncomfort-"

"Finnick," I snap and wince at the sound, "I'm fine. _Please_ don't make me say it again."

It would be worse to turn around now. Embarrassing…almost shameful. No, we have no choice now but to continue on. Something in my expression must confirm this to him, because he nods slowly and, finally convinced, he lets my arm go.

As it turns out, everyone was in the back yard, waiting patiently for us. I hoped with everything in my being that they didn't hear my little mishap out front, but they didn't seem phased when we showed up. They didn't even comment on the fact that I was there, actually. No assault of the eyes…no half-hostile comments like, _"Oh, you brought Annie…"_

Blissful nothing.

Finnick morphs into the Finnick he is around his friends; loud, joking, _fun_. Trying to ignore the fact that he'd just witnessed me going full on panicked – something he'd only heard me talk about, never to experience for himself, while _I_ try to ignore the nagging feeling that he must feel so freaked out being around me right now.

While everyone politely says their hellos and I politely retaliate them, I notice it. Peeta comes up to me, envelopes me into a hug (a new development that he's been working on since a few days ago). I happen to look down (a new development that I've been working on due to crippling shyness) and I see it.

Peeta's missing what appears to be almost all of his left leg, the beige plastic of a prosthetic rising out of his sneaker and disappearing behind the hem of his bright blue swim trunks. I can only assume it stops at the thigh, but it could possibly go higher…

I gape at it for a moment and then regain my senses and look up, hoping no one notices _me_ noticing _it_. The horror of people catching me gaping at his leg envelopes me, but no one seems to be paying me no mind, though, not even Peeta as he wanders off to go talk to Katniss about something. How had I missed this? My head swims with images of him slowly getting out of seats…of the slight limp in his walk…he's never worn shorts before now…

"Annie?" Finnick's concerned voice shakes me out of the shock, and for a moment I fear he knows what I'm thinking, "You okay?"

"Yeah, sorry, just…just spacing." I bite my lip, relieved he only thinks I'm in the midst of some mind war with myself. Maybe he thinks I'll faint. I hope I don't faint…

"Well, we're about to set off. We've got a long walk through the woods to get to the lake and all." He shrugs in a "_what can I say, it's out of my control" _way. I just offer a smile in return and follow him into the thick forest.

* * *

It's a slow process, since the only ones really attuned to walking successfully through the forest are Katniss (who's positioned on the front of our little train) and Gale (in the back). I'm sure it's sort of an unspoken alliance they've formed to make sure we don't get hurt or lost or slow them down. Katniss moves like a cat, slinking through the green undergrowth as if it were what she was born to do, and being the second to last in line, I can't hear a single one of Gale's footsteps behind me. Sometimes I sneak a peak over my shoulder to make sure he's still there, and every time he is, quietly marching behind me, his shoulders relaxed and looking the most serene I've ever seen him.

They treat this place as if it was their home, and that only makes me feel even more unsure of myself - like an outsider.

Finnick's a little bit ahead of me, carefully stepping his way around roots and occasionally holding back tree branches for me. I hate when he does, though, because it means I have to provide this awkward dance of not knowing whether I should return the favor to Gale, whose senses seem heightened in this biosphere. His gaze is enough to make me want to retreat into myself, so much so that I can't stand making a fool of myself in front of him, and it seems that in this environment I'm more prone to do so. I swear I can hear him chuckle when I struggle to not trip over roots and whatever else threatens to reach up and wrap around my ankles.

But that may just be my vengeful mind playing its usual tricks on my sanity; making more of an ordeal than is usually present.

I can't help but notice Peeta, who is working his way through behind Katniss. His awkward gait is no match for the terrain, and he seems to be struggling more than I am at maneuvering his weight through the harsh forest floor. I'm subconsciously waiting for him to trip and topple over, but so far he hasn't. Every once and a while I'd watch as Katniss would peak over her own shoulder, probably to check up on him, and then try to make like she wasn't staring at him.

Johanna's squished between him and Finnick, and I see a waver in her usual I-don't-give-a-shit demeanor, every once and a while holding her arms out behind Peeta if she thinks he's about to fall over, only to quickly drop them when he regains balance. Her eyes never leave his back, even as Finnick leans forward to say something to her. Her concerned gaze is strange to see on her face, but it adds this solemn warmth to her character (to both of these girls, really) that's new to me. I'd already known they were fiercely protective of their friends; the discussion I'd eavesdropped them having in Johanna's kitchen affirmed that. It's one thing to hear their protectiveness, and a whole other to watch it in action. The way they're teaming up to quietly look out for Peeta, while trying to keep his pride intact hits me hard.

Katniss and Johanna may seem cold and allusive on the outside, but once you're allowed into their world, you're theirs to protect.

It adds an ache to my person, because for one solid moment I'm jealous and mad and sad. It combines into a large pit that sits at the bottom of my stomach and I force it to disappear as soon as it comes. Letting my emotions take hold of me now will only soil this outing further. Instead I try to focus on where my next step will be, and develop a calming routine of pressing my feet into the footsteps Finnick leaves behind, his sure steps providing an easy trail to follow. I'm intent on matching up to where he places his feet that I don't notice when we stop, leaving me to crash into his back, and my nose pan-caking just below his shoulder blades.

"Shit!" I stumble back and half-fall-half-land in Gale's arms. He's not quick enough to catch me and I end up in a sitting position just below his knees, his arms hooked painfully under my armpits. My face is rose-red before I even have time to contemplate what happened.

"Crap, Annie, you okay?" It's Finnick who reacts first…or second, if you count Gale's half-assed catch as a reaction. He works to help me up in that awkward _"I can stand on my own if you'd just let me try"_ way.

"She okay?" Katniss asks, and it sounds like a reluctant question, a frown set in her lips.

"What happened?" Peeta asks, and it's comparatively more genuine it could almost be funny.

"She fell." Johanna states, and though I can't see her face I hear the smirk in her statement. It makes me blush harder as I brush dead leaves and dirt and potential bugs off the back of my shorts.

"At least it wasn't me this time," Peeta chuckles at his statement and there's an awkward silence in the air. It screams: _should we laugh or…? _Because no one wants to laugh at how true the statement can be, that Peeta has more of an advantage in the falling category than the rest…

"Gotta hand it to you, Annie, you made it all the way to the end at least." Gale winks at me and I have no idea how to react to it. It's the most I've gotten form him expression wise. I decide to respond with a shy smile; my go-to reaction for everything.

It's at that point that I notice the girls are stripping their clothing off their backs, revealing the bikini's hidden beneath. Beyond them, I see it. A beautiful crystallized lake, hidden beneath a swath of shady trees and rocks. It's not very large, compared to how you would envision the word "lake". It's more of a pond at that, but it looks enticing, as if it's curling up a chilling index finger at me, beckoning me to dip my toes in.

At the sound of Finnick's cannonball into the water, I take it he has responded to the call fairly quick.

The group turns into a mass of laughing limbs and stripping and splashing water. I watch as one by one they delve into the water, getting over the "shit its cold" factor that every body of water posses, choosing to paddle out as far center as they can get. I stand there, unsure what to do.

Slowly, hesitantly, I begin to take off my shorts and shirt, revealing my one piece that pales to the girls more mature bathing suit options. I hug my arms around my torso in an attempt to make myself smaller. I feel like a toddler.

I feel out of place.

Before I have a chance to really freak out, cold, wet hands grip my waist and lift me high, high into the air and I shriek and flail until I realize they're just_ Finnick's_ cold, wet hands. Just when I assume he's about to perform that cliché throw-the-girl-into-the-water routine, he sets me back down on the ground, an undeserved devilish smirk planted on his lips. He's soaked, dripping lake water everywhere.

"Come on, there's a rope swing over here," he grabs my hand and tugs me along, down a trampled path and up to a large sycamore tree, shelved over a small dirt ledge that hovers just over the water. It looks as if someone took 4"x4" blocks of wood and nailed them up the truck, forming a makeshift ladder that trails up to a large, thick branch. Looped and tied around the branch is a rope, long and thick with a huge knot that forms a sort of noose. Though the rope is weathered brown, it still looks sturdy enough to hold.

Finnick wastes no time using the footholds to climb the tree, the muscles in his back working to pull himself up. For a moment, I stare in awe as he makes a grab for the rope, no fear or uncertainty on his face, just a plastered smile that wrinkles his cheeks and squishes his eyes.

He jumps, tucking his foot expertly under the loop of the noose, and wraps his arms taught on the line. He swings perfectly over the center of the lake, but instead of jumping off he rides the rope back to me, hovering just inches off the ground as he glides by and winks at me. The wind pushes his hair around and around and I'm mesmerized at how easily he can swing. When he doubles back over the lake, with not quite as much momentum as before, he drops, his limbs flailing as he crashes into the water.

His adventure caught the attention of everyone else, because out of nowhere I'm surrounded by everyone, shoving each other to get to be the next in line to swing. Gale shoves Katniss halfheartedly and mounts the tree, crawling up with the grace of a spider. Katniss doesn't take this lightly and I'm shocked as I watch her attack the tree from a different side, hauling herself up the trunk high enough to reach the branch and jump on the rope before Gale even realizes what happened.

Peeta chuckles behind me as we watch her swing out over the lake, sticking her tongue out at Gale.

"I always forget how she's part squirrel until we come out here." Johanna materializes beside me, her arms crossed, watching Katniss crash into the water with a smirk. I don't even realize she's talking to me until she turns to look at me, "It's like she comes alive when she's in the woods. It's freaky…but kind of nice."

"Oh," I blink dumbly and Johanna turns to watch Gale get his turn, jumping almost directly over Katniss' swimming body. I should probably add more to it but Johanna's already gone, shimmying up the tree with not as much confidence as Katniss or Gale, but still with enough grace for one to notice she's got general knowledge of how to do it effectively.

I turn to Peeta, whose still behind me, watching everything quietly with a small smile on his face. "You can go ahead of me, if you want…" I gesture to the tree, positive I'm not going to attempt to climb it today.

"Nah, that's okay." He smiles at me and an image of a golden retriever flashes in my head, "I can't really get up the tree that well," he gestures to his leg, "and it's not really worth the effort, you know?"

"Oh, right, yeah," I mumble, blushing slightly.

Its quiet and he adjusts so he's standing beside me, watching everyone paddle around in the lake. Finnick catches me watching and waves at me from the water. He cups his hands around his mouth in a faux megaphone and calls, "Come on, Annie! Try it out!"

"You want to go?" Peeta peers down at me and I shake my head.

"Ah…I couldn't – I mean, I don't really know…I've never…" I fumble nervously.

"You want help?" He offers, gesturing to the trunk, "Getting up? It's easier than it looks, trust me."

"I don't know…"

"If I can do it with this," he gestures once more to his leg, "than you can definitely do it!"

I don't really know what the proper etiquette is to respond to such a statement, so I swallow my anxiety and march to the tree, my hands cupping the rough edges of the blocks and pull myself up. Peeta shuffles behind me, hands hovering inches from my waist in case I fall. I try to ignore the prospect of falling (for the second time today) and focus my energy on the branch. For a moment, I realize where I am and what I'm doing and I pause, not even halfway up. Peeta's able to reach the back of my kneecaps, so if I were to fall over there's no doubt its going to hurt. I'm frozen, my belly flush with the tree as I hold on to dear life, quite possibly resembling a cat stuck in a tree.

He taps my calf, "you alright?"

"Call the fire department," I respond jokingly under my breath.

"You can do it, Annie!" Finnick calls and I remember that he's there and everyone's watching me. Shit. "You can almost reach the rope now!"

I can. If I go one more block higher and reach enough I can grab the rope, but I'm still frozen. I think I forgot how to climb.

_Come on, Annie._

_Breathe in._

_Breathe out._

Lift my leg, push, pull and I'm there, reaching for the rope. I feel like I'm going to tumble over when my fingertips brush the rough texture of the swing and I pull it to my body. I let out a shaky breath and shout triumphantly, "I did it! I got it!"

Finnick and Peeta cheer accordingly, Johanna chuckles in amusement, Katniss and Gale float on their backs, watching the scene curiously.

"Okay…um…w-what now?"

"This is the tricky part," Finnick calls and the blood rushes from my face because I thought getting the rope _was _the tricky part, "You need to jump and hang on at the same time. The trick is to get your foot hooked right on the knot and get enough momentum to get yourself over the lake."

"Just picture yourself on a swing set." Johanna offers, "It helps."

I'm pretty much unsure of how to do any of that at this point, so I just do what I imagine everyone else did and throw myself off the tree. For a terrifying moment I'm scrambling in mid air to hook my limbs like Finnick instructed to onto the rope, and then I just give up on that and hold on for dear life. I slip slightly down the rope as I swing out, my hands catching rope burn and just as I hover over the surface of the water I let go and drop.

I fall into the water and cold bubbles cascade around me as gravity loosens and the liquid caresses my body. I open my eyes to watch my hair string behind me like seaweed and as tiny green bubbles race each other to the surface. I stay like that until my lungs begin to sing and I stretch out and shoot like a rocket to the surface.

Windy air nips at my face and I find myself laughing in giddy delight when I get enough air, "I did it! Holy shit! I did it!"

Someone claps but I don't see who and a few others _whoop_ and cheer for me and everything negative I've felt today melts because I did it!

I float on the surface of the lake, beads of water dripping down my face and I smile at the sun as it warms my face and everything is warm and I'm happy. I'm truly, very happy.

* * *

Not soon after an odd thing happened.

The girls asked if I wanted to join them in sunbathing.

We stretch over our towels like cats lounging under the sun and listen as the boys continuously splash and jump off the rope swing. The sun almost dips under the line of trees and Katniss says when it does we'll head out. Johanna _tuts_ and adjusts her sunglasses over her face and I try to pay attention to areas of my body that feel like they're burning.

I feel warm still from swimming and laughing and Finnick's smiles in my direction that the sun turns up the sensation. My wet hair tumbles over my shoulders as I lay back and soak it all in. Johanna shakes her head to get the water out of her hair and chuckles at something I can't see. Katniss pulls her hair out of its signature braid and shakes out the half-dry curls until they fall over her olive skin.

"I'm happy Peeta decided to get in the lake this time," Katniss comments quietly, watching him doggy paddle in circles. "Remember last year? He just sat on the bank, smiling to himself as if he were having the time of his life."

"He's getting more involved since the accident," Johanna observes beside her, her fingers pinching the towel beneath her. "That's good."

Katniss nods, her face scrunching as she looks up at the sun.

I want to ask what happened to him, but I'm too scared to. I've yet to actually engage in conversation with these girls, settling to only stir the pot when necessary. They don't seem to mind, though, as they chatter quietly to themselves about topics I wouldn't be able to join.

I'm just happy they're trying to include me.

I catch Finnick watching us, a smirk on his face, before Gale pushes him underwater.

The smirk seemed innocent, but even from here I could read the intent behind it loud and clear.

It was his way of saying _I told you so_.

* * *

It rained for the first time the day after the trip to the lake. I'd all but forgotten what precipitation looked like, or even what rain clouds were like. I can't explain the satisfaction I experienced as I watched the clouds swallowed the sun.

You would think that that sort of blanket-like coverage would cool down the atmosphere for a while; bring a much needed relief from the overbearing heat. However, if anything, the rain didn't do anything, but change up the scenery.

It was like stirring a pot of hot soup. Everything was still hot, only now with the added discomfort of everything being wet. The wet humidity clung to my hair and pressed on my clothes, and there was no escaping it. For the most part I stayed huddled in my room, listening to the fat drops hit my roof and watching as they slide down the window pane. In the distance thunder rumbles like a grumbling child, just out of range but close enough to know its coming.

I'm warm and relaxed and for the first time in a while I'm alone, another thing I'd all but forgotten since my arrival here. It's comfortable. I'm used to alone. It's like a dear friend that doesn't do anything or say anything, just hold your hand and sits beside you while you go about your business.

But with alone comes the wrath of bored; alone's jealous cousin that vies for your attention in the most obnoxious of fashions. I pace my room, watching my feet hit the creaky boards until I get tired of it. I can't go anywhere or do anything. It's too wet outside for a walk. I feel like napping but I wouldn't be able to sleep tonight if I did. I stumble my way to the kitchen, because that's what you do when you're bored. You bored eat. The fridge lights up the kitchen but there's nothing in there that suits my needs. I close the doors, lower my expectations, and open them again.

Still nothing.

I'm about to make my way back to my room, when the phone rings. I stop and watch it. Dad's not home to lift the burden of answering it for me. I could let the answering machine catch it, but then the prospect that I'll still be bored if I do hits and I'm reaching for the stark white receiver.

"Hello?"

"How many raindrops do you think there are right now? Like…how many have hit the ground _right now_?" Is how he greets me and I smile and slink to the floor, the phone pressed into my ear.

"Right now, _right now_? Or as we speak and will continue to speak?"

"So many possibilities," he whispers into the line, and I can hear the awe in his voice, "So many outcomes…"

"Indeed."

"All this and I'm still not over the fact that we're being rained on with the same water that may have hit the dinosaurs." He sighs and I chuckle at the memory. He once wrote me this page long rant about how cool it was that rain water was recycled and he might be bathing in something that touched Abraham Lincoln or Hitler.

"Any reason you're calling me or are you starting to feel like a caged animal as well?"

"I have a truck, remember." He gloats, a smile in his voice, "So I haven't been a caged animal for a while now. _Vroom, vroom_."

"Lucky," I close my eyes and listen to him breathe and the rain pelt the roof, "I forgot what being alone felt like. It's so…empty."

"Like a pot. Or a bucket. Or a pool with no water." He lists.

"Generally speaking."

Its quiet on the line for a moment and I have a hunch he's trying to figure out how to say something.

"So…Annie…"

_Bingo._ "Hmm?"

"About yesterday. We never really got to talk about that."

"I know! I can't believe I actually swung off an _actual rope swing!_"

He chuckles, and its static and breathy in my ear and I wish I was there in person to smell the traces of mint gum on his breath, "Well, you know, you can do anything you put your mind to, and all that jazz." he pauses, "But, uh, that's not really what I meant when I said we should talk about what happened yesterday…"

I know. I knew from the moment he called me. I just wanted to hope it could be forgotten…

This is the downer of not communicating strictly by letter. It's easier to avoid touchy topics; to dance through privacy problems with the aid of long distance.

"Yeah," I breathe, because if he wants to talk about it, he can. I'm just not going to instigate my own humiliation and vulnerability.

"So…is, um, that normally what happens during an attack?" He's trying to sound nonchalant but there is no nonchalant with this, and he knows it. "Like, with the breathing and the fainting?"

"I fainted?!" I gasp, my hand cupping my mouth. _Shit, shit, shit_. "What?!"

"Yeah, Annie, you fainted for like, about a minute. It was kind of scary…"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I figured you kind of knew?" his voice is soft, gentle; he understands he's treading on gentle ground, "So I take it it's not normally what happens?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes shut, "Uh…not really. I mean, it _has_ happened before – the fainting. But, um, some…attacks…are more violent than others."

"So its kind of like chance? Mixes up a lot?"

"I suppose…the breathing thing is common. I also tend to get dizzy sometimes." I sigh, "I don't know, Finnick. I just kind of wished you didn't get to see that yesterday…it's awfully embarrassing."

"Hey, don't be embarrassed!" He's defensive but it's a reassuring kind of defensive, if that makes any sense, "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Annie. Especially with me." He's quiet for a moment, and then his voice is so small I have to really listen to hear him properly, "You know you can trust me with this kind of stuff, right? I mean…it's your choice to and all that of course...but, _ah_, I just want you to know that I'm here if you need to talk or anything."

"Of course, Finnick," I'm smiling now, despite my mortification, "Duh, stupid." He chuckles at that, "And same for you, obviously."

"Yeah."

"So…got any juicy secrets you need to spill? Get off your chest?"

"I knew it." He sighs, but it's exaggerated, "You only like me for my gossip."

"Naturally."

We both laugh and then the line is silent. A clap of thunder shakes the shutters on my house and I jump slightly. Finnick whistles.

"Did you hear _that_?" He chuckles, "Man, I love a good summer thunder storm."

"I'm going to hang up now, because I have this weird fear of being electrocuted during a lightning storm." And it's true. I used to sit in the middle of my living room at the apartment whenever lightening would strike, refusing to touch anything like the T.V. or the microwave or the stereo.

"You know, statistically speaking, the chances of being hit by lightening in a lifetime is 1 in 3,000…"

"Odds are never in my favor."

"That's 1 in 700,000 each year."

"I'm hanging up now."

"We're competing with 700,000 people right now. It's a game and we're _winning_."

"Good bye, Finnick."

Lightening flashes through my window and a crack of thunder rumbles on top of the house like a whip. I flinch and nearly drop the phone.

"Still in the game." Finnick says.


End file.
